


Biting and Tasting

by Lortan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 'Nuff said, A sadistic "I must make this smol bean cry" sort of fluff, Actually this may become smut in the future, Also I plan to give it plot, And Bill just thinks that it's fantastic that he actually wants to cuddle with someone, And a lack of time for writing, And if it's not for imagining smut between a ten year old and an age old demon, Aren't I?, Because I seriously want to know, Because I too have an imagination, Borderline Smut, Dipper.... has....anxiety...., Does this or does this not count as bedding Dipper, Faerie revels are Faerie revels, Hopefully good plot, I have a laptop to write my insane ramblings down upon, I'm back!, I'm writing fluff, If you are the type who can pick up on miniscule details, Instead of his usual distaste, Just use your imagination for the rest, Look people!, M/M, Not sure I agree with that but just a heads up on what's inside, Oh cripes, Okay so I was told that this is basically torture porn, On the upside, Plot!, Shameless Fae AU, So much curling around and nestling into occurs here, Sort Of, Then I don't know what it's for, Updates will be slowing a bit due to real life existing, You didn't think I could do it, You have one for a reason, also, and more importantly, but fluff nonetheless, but we'll see, did you?, go and read Icarus by LanxBorealis so that I can have an excuse to rant about it in the AN, more plot!, that is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 11:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lortan/pseuds/Lortan
Summary: Dipper never thought he'd actually see a Faerie in the woods.





	1. Discoveries Abound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly updated, since this utterly fantastic person commented on my mistakes. And no, I'm not being sarcastic; if you see mistakes tell me, I don't always notice.

Long fingers skimmed over his skin, making Dipper suck in a breath and squirm. Slim hands pushed his shirt higher over his stomach, and Dipper arched up, pushing his sensitive belly closer to the touch. The hands pushed right back, harder, pushing him even deeper into the undergrowth of the forest floor. Dead leaves sent up their dank scents around the two, but it couldn't mask the smell of poisons and honey that wafted from the man, no just figure, that perched above him.

It couldn't be another man, Dipper knew. The figure's very appearance and behavior was proof of that. The way Dipper had been floundering through the bush and bramble, and suddenly a lithe figure had stood before him. With long limbs, too long to be human, and golden hair, too golden to be human. Like you could clip off a few locks and sell them for a fortune in town. Its face was long and sharp and too beautiful for words, inhumanly so. It was an almost unblemished facade, aside from its body's unnatural length and starved skinniness, but there was one last thing that clearly spoke of what this figure truly was.

It lacked an eye. Not like its eye was covered, or had been somehow gouged out. The entire upper left side of its face was smooth, an expanse of dark, golden skin, uninterrupted. As if the eye had never existed or grown there in the first place. That lack of an eye, combined with the way the remaining one was butter yellow with a slit pupil and glittering with curiosity, cruelty, and lust, was enough to convince Dipper that the figure standing before him was not human. And Dipper knew what it was instead. Dipper knew far too well, and feared for his life because of it.

Dipper, a simple boy from a simple village, had found a Fae, and done so completely by accident. Dipper had never thought he'd actually find a Faerie in the woods.

Yet it was no secret that the Fae sometimes appeared in the forests of the tiny village, Gravity Falls. Tourist came to see them and went missing, found days later with their wrists slit or flowers growing out of their gaping mouths, or sometimes, they were just never found. People who had lived in Gravity Falls their whole life left out bowls of milk and stayed away from tree stumps with holes in the middle, and checked the spaces around their beds before getting up in the morning. So Dipper knew about their existence.

But he'd never expected to actually find one, and the witnesses were usually chased away or killed if they saw them. Not pushed immediately over and straddled across the waist, with unnaturally long legs kneeling on either side of their hips, and not with blindingly golden hair draped over their neck and face, and dark skinned, long fingers tracing the lines of their chest under their shirt. This Fae was doing it all wrong, breaking all the rules, upsetting the previous order of things. And it was making Dipper writhe, with not only growing pleasure as it teased around his nipples and pushed against his stomach, but also with horrible fear.

He hardly registered the black lips and sharp teeth as they descended onto his gaping mouth.


	2. There's a Thin Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person. Forgive me for continuing this abomination, and planning to continue doing so.

There was a human in the woods, Bill noticed, almost offhandedly. One might ask how he had come to notice this, but really it was quite simple. The human in question had all the subtlety of a drunken redcap, and all the loudness and grace of one too. It had been crashing through the undergrowth like some animal five times its size, making its way right onto the path Bill had been walking along, and then it had frozen there, meeting his eye like a deer looking into a human cars headlights.

He found it instantly fascinating.

Bill had seen humans before, of course. The Seelie court all but collected them, leaving their own ugly children in exchange for the cutest of human babes, and keeping the human children that they stole as pets, young forever, or at least until they grew bored of them and let them begin to age until they found them interesting once more.

And the Unseelie court hunted humans all the time, the stupid, dumb ones who were not familiar with the town and its land, nor the warnings, the ones who ventured into the woods with contraptions that made tiny paintings, and didn't know what anyone raised in Gravity Falls knew: to stay out of the woods, and be inside on full moon nights. Or sometimes they knew, but just didn't understand why they had to stay inside. They soon learned, when the Unseelie court caught their prey and bled them dry.

One could generally guess soon after meeting him to which court Bill Cipher belonged.

Yet this was not a full moon night, and frankly Bill couldn't find himself in the mood for a game of cat and mouse with the little human boy before him.

But if not that, then what could he do with him? He could not just leave him blundering around in the woods. Bill carefully observed the human boy. He was small, scrawny, really. That almost made Bill discount him immediately, until he realized that his scrawniness could almost be called slimness. And the skin that was visible beneath the human's clothes was almost unmarred and perfect, a healthy shade of fair, the only imperfections visible the slight scratches of thorns which the boy much have gotten caught up in previously. And while he thought the human's cut off trousers and red shirt and blue vest were no match for his handsome suit, they fit the boy in an almost cute way, just as the rimmed cap on his head, decorated with a tiny blue pine tree symbol, did.

Not to mention that face. That face that was growing paler and paler, deliciously pale with fear as they continued to stare at one another, with warm brown eyes which were by now so big and wide that Bill was certain he had never seen someone look so innocent and pure, purely terrified. Oh, how Bill already loved the terror in those eyes. And the boy's hair, the colour of chestnut or red oak, was falling down and crashing in curls that rivaled his own, curling right above those gorgeous brown eyes like a fluffy cloud that Bill's fingers twitched to touch.

The pink nose.

The gaping mouth.

The obviously chewed lips.

The hint of dark circles under the eyes.

If Bill had ever had a heart, it would be beating by now. A wicked smirk cracked across his inky black lips.

Perhaps a game of cat and mouse was in order after all.

Bill was suddenly reminded of humanities slowness when he was able to dart forward and tip the boy over into the undergrowth, dropping immediately onto him and spreading his palms over his tiny chest, all of this before the boy had even reacted. And when he did finally begin to move again, to let out a surprised squeak not unlike that of a scared rabbit and begin to struggle, it was such a pathetic attempt that Bill almost wished for more of a challenge before he caught himself and realized that he could probably make that happen. Bill gave the boy a sharp smile, and indeed, the wriggling increased. In the process of his struggling, the boy had managed to somehow jerk in a way that pulled up the hem of his rust red shirt, exposing a sliver of bare stomach. Bill smirked as he traced it carefully, and was rewarded when the boy gave a tiny gasp, and began to squirm even more desperately beneath him.

Oh, that delicious sound. Bill wanted to hear it again.

He pushed the shirt up further, baring more pale flesh and running his clawed fingers over it, and was delighted when the boy suddenly arched upwards into his touch. He pushed right back, eliciting another sharp intake of breath, and Bill hummed in appreciation of the reaction. He slid his fingers under the boy's shirt, as far as could be permitted by the red fabric before it got in the way, and then he more or less tore it in half in an effort to get more and more flesh bare to the air. His slender fingers traced the boy's every rib and a line up through the centre of his chest, teased around his nipples, and slid across his collar bone, coaxing gasps and choked whimpers from the boy's bitten lips.

Bill had never kissed someone. He'd never really felt the need or desire too. He'd never been more then barely interested in any of his lovers. Then again, they had never reacted to his attentions in a way that so clearly screamed of neediness mixed with mortification and fear.

When their lips met, Bill was smiling.

It wasn't bad. Perhaps a bit wetter then he would have preferred, what with his own honeyed saliva mixing with the boy's and dribbling down the boy's reddened cheek, and he was disappointed to realize that his mouth was muffling the boy's anxious cries. But it wasn't bad. As a matter of fact, Bill rather enjoyed it. The boy had not closed his mouth, had in fact left it wide open and was gaping like a fish, and Bill chanced to touch his own black tongue to the boy's pink one.

He tasted like syrupy sweet human foods and fear, and Bill moaned in delight, a sound mimicked by the boy moments later when Bill's hands began to wander again.

And then pain and a flowery taste exploded between their mouths, and Bill realized with a start that the boy had bitten his tongue, and that the flower taste was his blood. He jerked back and blinked widely down at the boy who moments ago had been whining for fear and pleasure, amazed at what he saw.

Angry brown eyes glared up at him, fury not quite replacing the fear but rather equalling it, and Bill found to his great bemusement that he was just as thrilled by this new emotion as he was the old one, and especially by the way they swirled together in those fascinating brown eyes that were almost the exact shade of the bittersweet human candy Bill had once eaten, a cacaphony of utterly delectable emotions on a sweet young face.

He wanted to keep those eyes. Or at least one. Besides, what did the boy need with two eyes? Bill had always fared perfectly fine with one, not to mention looked fabulous. The boy could spare at least one.

But now was not the time to debate eyes. Right now, he had to figure out how to deal with the angry, scared, flushed and panting little human boy whose hips he was so comfortably settled upon. As a matter of fact, the boy's lips were now moving in quiet muttering, and Bill leaned in closer to listen, his own golden hair mixing with the boy's brown when he got close enough to decipher what he was saying. Ahah. Cipher. He was hilarious. But back to the human.

"Getoffgetoffgetoffgetoff." The boy was chanting, over and over, glaring poisonously up at him, and Bill felt his imaginary heart skip a beat before a smile split his face, and he erupted into hoarse giggles before leaning closer still, touching noses and allowing his hot honeyed breath, now tainted with the scent of his blood, to drift over the boy's face.

"No." He crooned, and dipped down for another kiss, this time, a clawed finger positioned pointedly at the boy's neck and another tracing ever lowering circles on the pale skinny chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like... Help me, I'm a very sick person.
> 
> Anyhow, the deal is, I only got one person's opinion on whether or not to write a companion, or sister fic if you will, for Biting and Tasting. So I eventually said fuck it, and struggled through a week's worth of writers block and self loathing to write this filth. It's not a sister fic as I had originally planned, but rather a second chapter, and if ya'll are as unlucky as I am then I'll keep posting more chapters, somewhere in the process traumatizing you all with the dark inner workings of my sick and underage loving mind. And if that doesn't permanently scar your mind forever, then my totally chipper personality will. So hooray! Read it if you dare. Then again, this AN is at the bottom of the 'it' in question, so I rather suppose that you already have.
> 
> So long and thanks for all the fish, and even more for reading. Please leave a comment, if it pleases your royal highnesses, and byeeeeeee!


	3. Curiosity Killed the Cat

When the Faerie first began moving closer, black blood leaking from the corner of its mouth, Dipper bit back a whimper of fear even as anger sent bright lights crackling to life behind his eyes. The same black blood burned at the back of his tongue and down his throat, coated his teeth and burned them like when a person with cavities bit into something sweet. The Faeries nose bumped into his own, and its hot flowery breath washed over his face, the smell perfectly matched by the taste of the blood in his mouth.

Its lips opened up barely a hair, and Dipper's fast beating heart stuttered to a halt in his chest as sound slipped out of that mouth.

"No." It purred, practically crooned, like a mother comforting a child, and for a moment Dipper's heart ceased to beat completely before coming back with a vengeance that seemed to imply that it wanted to break all previous records.

This was not happening.

Burning black lips pressed to his own, softly at first but then with bruising force, and a wet tongue ran over his closed lips, but didn't attempt to come further. Dipper felt relieved and irritated at the same time; he would not have minded biting the bastard a second time.

He was in fact considering ways of doing so anyways when the Faerie's claw dug into the hollow of his collarbone, not quite painful but enough to send another dozen alarm bells joining the multitude that were already clanging about in the back of his skull, and Dipper moaned into its mouth when its other hand began gently pressing circle patterns on his upper chest, then his lower, then his belly, and then slipping underneath the band of his shorts. More warning bells rang, and Dipper tried to squirm away, but the finger at his neck pressed harder in warning, digging in hard enough to actually hurt. Dipper swallowed and stilled, and the hand continued its caresses' downward decent, tugging impatiently at his shorts and making Dipper feel the tiniest bit of sadistic glee that even if he was unable to fight the creature, his clothing evidently was willing.

Unfortunately, Faeries are generally a fair bit stronger then pants, and Dipper was eventually left miserably bare to the cool woods air.

Dipper sucked in a breath and tensed as its long fingers brushed against something that he really wished they hadn't brushed against. He tried and failed to bite back a sound of discomfort, and the hand paused.

Dipper, the fool that he was, thought for a split second that maybe that was the end of it.

And then the Faerie pulled away with a glint of curiosity, and his heart sunk unto his stomach, which then crumpled under the additional weight of the cardiac organ. Dipper knew that look. His sister wore it all the time when she discovered something she considered interesting and decided that further investigation was needed.

This was really happening, Dipper realized, to his utter horror, mortification, fury, fear, and disbelief.

This. Was. Happening.

_Shit._

He was pulled from his thoughts and abruptly dropped back into terrible reality by a giggle above him, and his eyes widened when he saw the knowing smirk the Fae above him wore. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day his heart sped up with fear and his face paled even further then it was, turning white as a sheet before colour rushed back into it, dying his face red and filling his ears with the rushing of blood. He felt paralysed, like he couldn't move, couldn't even breathe properly. His vision tunneled for a second as his heart skipped a beat, and then returned suddenly back to normal, before skipping another. All he saw was that smirk and all he felt was fear and loathing for the thing above him, mixed with some sort of terrible, mocking, mutated admiration for the sheer inhumaneness of it, from its inhuman beauty to its inhuman strength to its inhuman capacity for cruelty and insanity.

The Fae ducked down, almost as if for another kiss, and he froze, but it changed course at the last second, and ended up at the side of his head, lightly nipping at the shell of his ear until suddenly it wasn't so light and he felt something liquid and hot seeping into his hair, and felt the Faerie smile against his bleeding ear before spatting a chunk of his flesh out.

"They say that what goes around comes around." It hissed delicately, but he could barely hear.

Then the hand was back, rubbing him and creating such terrible friction, and Dipper screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like I know I said there would be plot, but this is what came out, so bear with me. I'll fit it in eventually. Hopefully it won't suck.
> 
> Also cayotes are howling outside and it freaks me out because I have cats.
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel no pressure to leave a comment but know that it would be greatly appreciated, and byeeeeee!


	4. Look Around, Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone who likes Mabel 'cuz I don't, and you can tell.

Bill was ecstatic to find that the boy's blood tasted nothing like his own flowery ichor, but rather sat heavy and rich on his tongue, the taste of metal burning holes in his gums and black tongue even after he had spat the chunk of flesh out onto the carpet of damp, dead leaves around them. He smiled, sickly sweet, and ground his fangs together in anticipation as he slid a pale slender hand under the boy's clothing once more, this time without receiving so much as a shudder or a blink in reaction.

"They say that what goes around comes around." He hissed, grinning at how well the human phrase fit the situation. Like an eye for an eye, he would accept pain for pain.

Though his tongue hardly hurt anymore, and the boy still remained clearly frozen from pain induced shock beneath him. Maybe he was taking a bit too much, not that he actually cared.

But when the boy finally did react, it was to let loose an ear splitting, bone chillingly shrill shriek. His screams were deafening and shattering to Bill's sharply pointed, sensitive Fae ears, but oh,  _oh,_ weren't they  _glorious_  to hear.

Bill practically basked in the screams, in the pure fear, fury and sick pleasure that was mixing and crescendoing in the shrill cries being emitted by the flushed, tight faced, tearing up little human child writhing violently beneath him.

It felt like Bill's entire body caught fire and burnt to dust, over and over again and again, at the sight of tears building up in those huge, wavery brown eyes, and his non-existent heart exploded in his skinny chest when they finally fell, exploded and went flying up into his throat, making him choke on a moan. His ears were left ringing, and it was not entirely from the deafening screams.

And then, when the screams stopped, the begging and the cursing and the mewling began, and to Bill's delighted surprise he realized that the new noises struck him as just as desirable as the sharp gasps of earlier had been. Tears were spilling down the boy's red cheek and into the damp dirt now, and Bill relished the horror on his ruddy face as he began to lap them up, his injured tongue leaving dark red, almost black smudges on the boy's face.

There was no particular taste discernible over the two blood flavours still lingering in his mouth, but Bill imagined with glee that the tears were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. Sweeter still then the bittersweet human candy that the boy's eyes reminded him of so. Sweeter still then Faerie fruit, or Faerie liquor. Even sweeter then the openmouthed kiss he had stolen.

And then, over the sound of the boy's swearing and mewling for him to stop, and the faint ringing still clinging to his knife like ears, he heard the sound of another human. They were still far off, but scrambling through the woods with quickly building speed, crashing through the half dead underbrush and howling a name.

"Dipper!"

Bill froze in his attentions and looked up, then back down at the boy, who had yet to notice that he had stopped and was still whimpering and muttering. Those sepia coloured eyes were now screwed tightly shut in a futile attempt to keep back the tears; they still leaked, with no less vigour then before, from between his lids and wet lashes.

Bill simply could  _not_  leave this precious delicacy behind, and certainly not just because some other human was apparently searching for him. He had so many more things he wanted to do, more things he wanted to take and savour and  _devour._

He flicked his spun gold hair back again, the riotous curls forming a yellow shroud down the back of his jacket, and blinked his singly eye once, slowly. He stared down at the quieting boy with lust and sly contemplation in his eye, considering every pro and con of his plan within the span of a single second.

When those eyes slowly and cautiously fluttered open, still wet, and met his, he smirked and licked his lips.

And then he sparked a flame.

When Mabel crashed onto the scene where she was sure her twin's frantic screams had been coming from, all she found was his torn red shirt and blue vest, and blood, both human red and Fairie black ichor, seeping into the ground and sending up competing stenches.

Not a sign of her twin brother remained.

And this time, it was Mabel who screamed and begged in that clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write this trash in such weird places, but look! Plot! You didn't think I could do it, did you? Admit it.
> 
> Have a random fact: When I start writing I tend to get really distracted and type random notes to myself or start writing for some other fic or some alternative cracky character responses, like Dipper just flat out punching Bill in the face or somewhere a bit... lower, or something, and then screaming "those clothes died out decades ago!" or just something really stupid and salty like that. In chapter three, they actually reenacted part of "Phantom of the Opera" and this one I had a few paragraphs of a Harry Potter Steampunk AU I want to write someday. Sort of to relieve the pressure of what's actually happening, I guess. So later on I'll go back and delete all those random silly things, and suddenly the story is like half the length of what I thought it was and I'm still laughing from rereading them all. Here's a few of the most common ones:
> 
> Agggghhhh I'mmm a terrrribleeee personnnnnnnn.
> 
> Note to self: put plot here.
> 
> Note to self: do something with your worthless life, you cretin.
> 
> Note to self: consider the lily.
> 
> Something along these lines but sometimes different musicals and generally better written: Dipper singing "Angellllll of music, you deceived meee." And Bill being totally unimpressed but then bursting out " iiit's oveeerr nowwww theee muuuusic ooof the niiiiight!" In his adorably annoying voice and butchering it.
> 
> The lyrics of whatever I'm listening to at the moment.
> 
> Weird Al style parody lyrics of whatever I'm listening to at the moment.
> 
> Drabbles and shameless shipping drabbles.
> 
> Steampunk AUs.
> 
> And yes I know that literally none of you actually cared or wanted to know about that, but I actually thought it may help someone because getting distracted from what I'm doing originally instead of just staring at a blank page or word document, hating myself and my writer's block, generally helps me with inspiration, and good humour is just good, obviously. So. There you go. I'm being "helpful."
> 
> Anyhow, thanks for reading, feel free to drop a comment but I won't hunt you down if you don't, and byeeeeeee!


	5. To the Tempting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bed cliche.

When Dipper finally realized that the creature had stopped, he was too afraid to open his eyes. But from a logical standpoint he knew he should, if only to find out what it was planning now.

When his mind had finally successfully forced his body to crack his eyes open, the sight he saw made him want to snap them shut again. Lust and wickedness shone down at him from the butter yellow slit pupiled eye, and to his horror and discomfort he saw a wicked grin begin to appear on the deceitfully beautiful face peering down at him.

It licked its lips, and his brain finally shut down. He gave in to his instincts and let his eyes slip closed again and his body grow limp, and removed himself as much as he could from the sounds of the creature shifting above him.

This was it. He was going to die. The Faerie had captured him and more or less defiled him, and no doubt it was now intending to eat him. He should have never gone into the woods.

His skin felt warm now, but not quite hot, and for a moment he thought he heard the fuzzy sound of someone he knew yelling his name.

He felt something shortly after, through a period of silence, that was the rough equivalent to having your body shoved through something hot and wet, and then through something that you were too big to fit through. He imagined, for one gruesome second, that this was what being eaten felt like. He had thought that it would have been much more painful, with claws and sharp teeth tearing his body into bite sized pieces, but if this was what being eaten by a Faerie felt like, then he supposed he should be grateful.

But then the warmth from before returned to his skin for a few seconds, before being joined by all other sensations slammed back into him as well, like a bus full of nerves hitting a brick wall and not even stopping.

Foreign arms were cradling him, holding him painfully tight to a thin, silk clad chest. The chest barely moved to breathe, almost completely still, until reverberations began and he heard someone, as if far away, talking to him.

"Such a pretty little kitten, aren't you?" Was the only distorted mumble he managed to understand before his hearing went by the wayside again.

Then the slender arms holding him flung him away, and he grunted as he made a hard impact with something soft and large.

A couch, maybe. Or a bed.

Something was flung over him, heavy and soft, a blanket probably. Whatever it was, it made him feel so delightfully cozy. He moaned as a weight bigger then him caused the bed to dip, himself almost rolling into the crevice before he was pushed slowly and a bit awkwardly away, and the weight suddenly became a body laying behind him, and he smiled a tiny bit, and basked in the extra warmth added to what was already there.

His hat was pulled off, and fingers danced over the side of his face and to his neck, tugging and playing with his hair. Hot breath rolled over his neck, and hair scratchier then his somehow found its way into his face.

He was fairly certain by now that this was not what being eaten felt like, Dipper thought from someplace far back, in some remote corner of his mind that was still relatively awake, though it was fading fast. And if he wasn't being eaten, that meant he must have been rescued. Someone had been calling his name, he was certain. They must have rescued him. He was probably home again, with his sister and his uncle, tucked into bed with them watching over him. The fingers he felt ghosting over his cheek were just a fever dream.

Dipper finally fell asleep, smiling lightly in his slumber and feeling safe and watched over, and unawares of what precisely was watching over him. Simularly, he stayed, until waking at least, unaware of the hand clutching tightly to his hip and the other tracing veins in his neck, and the single yellow eye burning a hole in his body.

"Such a pretty little kitten." Bill repeated, blinking down at the boy he held before languidly trailing his still lightly tingling tongue over the boy's neck and around his ear, lapping at the drying blood like a rabid dog at a wet gutter. When he deemed the boy as no longer a danger to his clean white sheets he stayed holding him for a few more minutes before twisting so that they were back to back, and carefully tangled their legs together; a hard feat to do, considering that Bill's were so long and the boy's were so short. Then he banished his vest, jacket, bowtie and shoes. He'd find them someplace tomorrow, probably, or he could just summon them back. It was worth it to be able to not only hear but feel the boy murmuring in his sleep.

He had no precise idea why he was striving for so much bodily contact, although on second thought, he knew exactly why.

He wanted to see the foolish thing's panicked reaction when he woke up to find them intwined. He reached beneath the covers and searched for something to hold onto, grabbed the boy's hand, and smiled at the mere thought of the coming morning.

Bill finally fell asleep, smirking with dried blood on his lips and feeling satisfied and exhilarated, and completely aware of the way the boy unknowingly snuggled deeper into his back, twitching as he strived to get comfortable.

 _Delicious_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. First time attempting to meld Bill and Dipper's POV's into one chapter. As you can see, I failed fabulously.
> 
> So like. I was browsing the internet looking for Will Cipher pictures for another fic I have to do. And someone had made Will Cipher a Pokemon card. I'm sure you've seen stuff like that all the time if you like looking at fanart like I do. Like personalized Pokemon cards, with the characters name and picture, and random ridiculously OP moves? You can't actually play them in the card game, obviously, at least not officially, but they're sometimes pretty interesting to look at. And this particular one was funny, because you know how Pokemon evolve? And the cards have little circles in the top corner showing what the preevolved form was, if it's an evolved Pokemon card? Well Will's preevolved form was apparently a bag of Doritos.
> 
> I was kind of disappointed when they were just normal Doritos, not ranch, you know as far as sticking to the colour scheme, but still. Brilliant.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment, and byeeeeee!


	6. Careful What You Wish For.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normal people probably don't listen to the vocaloid chorus of "I'm Sorry I'm Sorry" for inspiration.
> 
> But I'm not normal. And I do. And it's one scarily catchy song.

Dipper wasn't a big dreamer when he slept, but he was considering the possibility of his entire day being a nightmare when he woke up nestled safely in bed, his whole body warm and his mind so bleary with sleep that he couldn't even remember where the scent around him came from. It was like a mixture of flowery scents, honey, and sharp smelling poisons, and it filled his nose and lungs, and when he inhaled, it coated his tongue with the same taste, and sent the most peculiar mixture of nervousness and excitement rushing up his spine.

He sighed and sleepily dismissed the thought. He wasn't quite ready to deal with such confusing matters right after waking up, and so instead he pushed more closely up against the body behind him, arching to follow the curve of the shoulders and fuzzily thinking of how nice the back bone felt pressed right above his.

Dipper's eyes flew open and his sleepiness vanished, taking with it his distorted thoughts, and his entire body tensed.

Who was in his bed?

He had about five seconds to puzzle over it before he saw a lock of abnormally golden blond hair laying a few inches away from his face, and then he figured it out.

Dipper let out a squeak before he could help himself, but the moment he noticed he muffled it, tightening the muscles in his throat and pursed his lips, ground his teeth, anything to make sure that no more sound creeped out of his mouth and gained the attention of the creature behind.

It was too late.

He heard a sleepy moan, before legs pulled away from his -  _when had they been so tightly tangled with his in the first place,_ he thought with panic - and fingers were tugged gently from his hold -  _when did he start holding them_ , his mind screamed - and the body behind him rolled against him, settling chest to his back, and an arm was thrown over him with a hand coming up to cup his cheek, the hand still warm from being held in his.

"Awake at last, are we?" A silky voice cooed next to his ear, the Faeries breath feeling hot and almost painful on his injured ear. "I was hoping you'd wake up at some point. It would be so dissatisfying if you died during the night." Dipper bit back whimpers when the Faerie's hold on him tightened, drawing him close to its warm, skinny chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut when it let out the most terrible sounding giggle he had ever heard, deceptively cute but at the same time harsher then nails on a chalkboard, and bucked its hips playfully against him. "Good morning, darling." It whispered mockingly in his ear, and Dipper wished he'd never woken up.

 _But wishes rarely came true_ , a little voice in his head that sounded vaguely like his uncle muttered, _at least not without a little help and some sacrifices._

So Dipper swallowed, gagging a bit in the process, and forced his heart to slow, staunchly ignoring the fingers caressing his jaw, and choked out a few words.

"Where am I." It came out more as an acknowledgement that he didn't know where he was then a question, and Dipper felt as though he had somehow lost something important.

Yet this wasn't his room, like he had originally thought. From where he lay, he could see no triangle window, no bed on the opposite side of the room, no piles of clothing and stacks of books, and no fat little pig laying on a colourful rug on the floor.

Instead, it looked almost as if they were underground, with walls of earth and tree roots coming to a dome above them, and magical flames flickering lowly at irregular points around the room. The bed was bigger then his, massive really, and shoved against one earthern wall, with tree roots hanging down over it's rumpled white sheets, as if they were threatening to ruin the perfection with falling dirt. Dipper could glimpse piles of clutter laying everywhere; clothing, jewels, flowers both dead and still living, old books, and... was that a bag full of hair?

"You don't sound like you really want to know." The Faerie observed, voice higher and sweeter then a flute, and it nuzzled behind his injured ear, sending pain shooting across the tender, soft skin.

"I do." Dipper said, and his voice cracked.

"Are you sure?" He was squeezed even tighter, and it started lapping at his ear, cleaning away what little crusted blood Dipper could feel.

"I am." Damn his traitorous voice, and damn the shudders that wracked his body with each stroke of the Faeries tongue against the side of his face.

"Well my bed, obviously." The Faerie purred, and Dipper's heart split in two. It took advantage of his silence to slowly wrap their legs together again, its then his then its then his, and start pressing feather light kisses to the back of his neck.

This was it. He was lost. He had grown up in Gravity Falls, grown up around the Fae, and he knew the stories.

He knew the truth.

Once caught, there was no escaping from a Faerie. And he'd been more then caught. He'd been caged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have too many jumpers to fit in my closet. I tried. It just doesn't work. I didn't even know you could have too many. But here I am. Nudging steadily further and further into poor Ren's closet space.
> 
> Also, if anyone really likes this story and wants to hear more of it that isn't necessarily canon for this AU, then I published another story for Christmas, called "the Twelve Bills of Christmas." Creative, I know. Anyhow. One of the twelve stories within it is, however, from this AU, and as you may have guessed, was vaguely Christmas themed. It also has a few things that may work their way into this fic, such as a barely amusing play on one of Dipper's nicknames, and the acknowledged existence of a few other Faeries. Plus Dipper generally having a bad time with his life, and Bill enjoying his suffering way too much. So yeah, if you want to check that out, that'd be great, but of course you don't have to. 
> 
> So without further ado, thanks for reading, please leave me a comment on whether or not this chapter sucks because I'm not sure, and byeeeeeee!


	7. Look What I Found!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has no idea what he's doing, but he likes doing it.

"Well my bed, obviously." Bill purred, nuzzling the boy's neck and breathing in deeply, savouring the smells of blood and sweat and fear, and the natural sweetness of young flesh. He felt the boy freeze in his arms, stiffer then ice in the middle of winter, before just as suddenly growing limp again, becoming as soft and pliable as he had been last night, when he was drowsy with shock and weak from his struggling.

Could this little human boy only  _increase_  his interest? The boy was changing like spring weather in his arms, one moment hot as lightning, the next like icy cold water, and then the next warm and melting in his arms, pretty brown eyes staring emptily off into the nothingness.

He snuggled closer, and slipped their legs back together again, one of his tucked carefully between the boy's legs, knee bent and wrapped around the boy's leg above it so that he would not be able to kick, and started pressing barely there kisses, completely different then the hungry ones of earlier, into the boy's neck, and breathing nonsensical words and fractured observations into his collarbone. There were a few droplets of dried blood caked on, that must have somehow gotten there from the boy's ear as they weren't Faerie black, and he breathed in the smell of stale human blood before moving up the boy's neck.

"Touch you," he murmured. "Touch you and hold you. Never let you go. Pretty, pretty, pretty." He sighed, and nipped at the boy's soft jawline. "Pretty and weak and so  _so_ yummy looking and  _tasting._ I'll keep you here. Here. You'll never leave. Kiss you and taste you. Hurt you. Make you cry whenever I want. Fuck."

The boy didn't so much as flinch, and Bill's emotions abruptly clashed as he pressed another kiss to his jaw. The little human boy was tantalizing without trying, but he was positively seductive when he struggled. The way his eyes lost a little bit of sweetness and became wilder, and he made such soft, animal sounds of desperation and need.

The way he was now was perfect, or at least as perfect as a human could get. He was like a living doll, barely breathing, but breathing nonetheless.

But Bill wasn't interested in perfect. That was such a Seelie thing to be concerned with, perfection. And Bill was no Seelie.

He wanted a challenge.

"Does that excite you?" He asked, taunted really, and pressed his hips against the boy a little bit harder. "Do you care? Can I defile you?" He whispered, and waited for a reaction, waited for those dead eyes to get a little life in them.

He didn't have to wait long.

"No." The boy said, his voice barely audible even to Bill's ears. He didn't really move, or even breath harder. His eyes still stared off into the distance. But he was speaking. "No." He repeated, just as quietly, before gaining a smidgen of volume, and blinking. "No."

Oh to dahlias and above, was that  _anger_  creeping into the undertones of that voice? A little thrill ran down Bill's spine, and a grin grew on his face without him even noticing.

"Hmm?" Bill hummed, and bucked his hips, relishing the way the boy finally stiffened a bit beneath him, and almost seemed to cringe away from him. "What was that, browneyes?"

The boy finally spoke above a whisper.

"No!" He said, shakily, but loudly, and jerked, as if trying to get away. "Let go of me!"

Bill didn't budge, but to bite back a giggle when the boy's cringing turned to a weak scrambling, and before long, thrashing.

"I said let go!" The boy spat, the anger now clear as day , but with a thin veil of fear and confusion in the background. "And let me out! What sort of s-sicko ambushes a kid and t-t... touches him, and then, and, and then kidnaps him! What the hell is wrong with you!" He yelped, clawing at the sheets in a futile attempt to pull himself away. "W-why would you do something like that!"

Bill has the strangest feeling that the kid doesn't really want an answer to that question, but he does it anyway.

"Because I was bored, and you looked like a good way to alleviate some of that." Bill purred, shifting the boy carefully, not giving him an opportunity to really break free of him, and reached out a hand to grab the boy's own scrambling ones, stopping their movement and crushing them tight in his own larger one, so tight that he heard the boy let out a tiny whimper of pain. He smiled down at him, not that the human caught it, before just as carefully shifting again, holding the boy to his chest as he rolled onto his back and onto his other side, taking the boy with him. Now facing a different way, he caught a glimpse of something: the boy's hat, still sitting atop a pile of clothes laying on the seat of a chair - right where he had tossed it last night when he had first crawled into bed beside the boy.

"And it seems as though I was right, Pine Tree." He crooned, and took the boy's uninjured ear in his mouth. Just as a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about this chapter that I really hate but I'm not sure what, so if anyone reads it and noticed anything particularly sketchy, tell me so that I can check it, because maybe you've found the problem I'm looking for!
> 
> Also, I was wondering if any of you have someone you would particularly like to be a Faerie? Obviously this story will be centered mainly around Bill and Dipper, but I do want other Faeries to play some role in the future. I already have some ideas, but if you have anyone in particular you really want to see, feel free to mention it. This offer is actually extended, in a way, in that if any of you want me to create a background character based on a certain physical trait or prompt word, I'd like to try. Examples being traits like skinny, winged, or part animal, and prompts like whatever you can come up with. I'll basically just come up with a rough appearance and maybe a few words and actions for them to do, maybe a name, but that's it. Basically just a way to do several things at once. I once saw someone do this while writing a party scene, and I thought I might try it myself. Neither of these will be needed for a while, since we've got a ways to go before other Faeries come into this, but I'd like to give myself a long heads up on what the heck I'm doing, basically.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter, where I'll be letting you name the chapters! Have a splendiferous day! Byeeeee!


	8. The Art of Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling when you really hurt yourself bad and instantly grab whatever part of you is hurt, but then once you stop applying pressure and let go to check the damage, it hurts even worse and feels like someone set you on fire? Dipper knows it.
> 
> Update: I fixed the italics and added a new couple of paragraphs to make Dipper's thought train a little easier to follow.

"Because I was bored, and you looked like a good way to alleviate some of that." The Faerie said, and Dipper felt like death would be a mercy.

Or wait, no. Mercy would be releasing him, and then a week later he could be waking up safe and in his own bed, his sister in the kitchen below making Mabel juice and his uncle snoring in his chair, Wendy behind the counter flicking idly through a magazine, and Soos fixing god knows what and god knows how.

But that clearly wasn't going to happen, so at the moment, he would gladly take death.

His mind spun uselessly, like a pinwheel in the wind, and pain shot up his wrists as the Faerie grabbed his hands too tight, its fingers like a vice and its clawed fingernails digging into the tender backs of Dipper's hands, and dragged them down. Then the Faerie started moving, and Dipper hoped for less then a split second that maybe he would be released before he realized that he was moving with it, like a child strapped to their parents chest, as sick as the comparison made him feel, tangled up and held against the Fae as it rolled over, not loosening its hold on him nor its painful grip on his hands.

It nuzzled his cheek, and spoke. Purred silkily into his neck, into his ear, like some pretty teenage girl begging for a gift. "And it seems as though I was right, Pine Tree." It crooned, and he felt its teeth on his ear, causing a shudder to rush up his spine that was so violent that he shook with it.

"I said get off." He gasped, suddenly finding himself breathless, eyes wide as he stared at anything and everything but never for long.

"No. I don't want to." The Faerie mumbled immediately back, and instead of loosening, its hold on him suddenly tightened. He felt like his ribcage was being crushed, and his hands felt ready to snap.

"Get off!" He squeaked, as sparks gathered at the edges of his vision. He started to wriggle, only to immediately stop when he felt the teeth dig a bit harder into his ear lobe.

He was acting like a scared rabbit, and he hated it. A simple bit of pressure was all it took to stop him fighting? Since when did a Pines back down? Since when did a Pines not fight back? What the hell was he doing here, cowering like prey hiding in the grass with a predator right over it. _Some help and some sacrifices,_ a voice in the back of his head suddenly spoke up. _What sacrifices are you willing to make?_

"I said no." The Faerie said, pulling his teeth slowly from Dipper's ear, its voice like the quiet, gravelly rumble of thunder in summer. "Besides. You like it."

_Definitely not this one._

"Like hell I do!" Dipper spat, jerking his head away and struggling to make the rest of his body follow. It was futile, of course, but it made him feel the tiniest bit better to know that he was doing _something_ , even if it was just petty scrambling. Even if he was pretty sure that his hands were about crushed by now, and that he was only pissing the damn thing off.

"Well, you sure seemed to last night, at least." It hissed delicately, grip tightening, and then he distinctly _did_ feel something in his hand finally break, like one of his palms collapsed and folded in half, and tiny splinters of bone fell apart and ran into one another, breaking further. Pain shot up his arm like the sudden impact of a thousand violently stabbing needles dipped in poison, and he let loose a terrible, animal shriek of pain and instinctively tried to jerk his hand back towards himself to cradle it close to his body. He was almost amazed when the Fae let him, snickering as its hold loosened and slipped away, and Dipper screamed as the pain somehow worsened, like there was now not only needles but now someone had cruelly set his hand on fire as well. "And now you know how I felt last night." It growled, sounding so absurdly smug that he screamed again, and kept on screaming, screech after screech as his shattered hand tore gloriously burning agony through him in sharp, repeating pulses, and he could barely breath through all the pain and fury. His throat grew raw far too soon, and his voice died to whimpers and halting squeaks, but his head was still hot with rage and his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

This wasn't sacrifice on his part, is was blindly accepting hurt that he in no way deserved. No one deserved this. Not even Gideon. 

He refused to accept it either.

But his currant tactic clearly wasn't working! Come to think of it, when had mindless struggling ever helped a human against the Fae? Dipper had grown up around stories and even legends of humans outthinking and outtricking the Fae, and yet here was he, defying the creature with nothing to back him up and not a single thought spared towards how he could actually go about this. Dipper had always considered himself as a logical person, so what logical thing was he doing now? Acting like a cornered animal or like the child he was would not help him. He had to be clever, like the characters in the stories, the ones who used Fae weaknesses to their advantage and always stayed a step ahead. He had to somehow beat the Faerie behind him at its own game, he realized with a whimper that ended up sounding no different then the ones he was already making. 

But how the _hell_ was he going to do that? He didn't even understand what the game was yet.

"You clutched my hand like it was the only thing you lived for, Pine Tree." Bill murmured with vindictive glee. He felt like a young Fae on their first hunt, his ears still ringing as the boy's screams died down into whimpers and his thrashing turned to writhing.

This was almost the challenge he wanted. Oh. And those tears. And the furious, pained, determined eyes within which they gathered. He could practically _sense_ the boy plotting.

He could barely contain his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every now and then I'll be looking at some other ship from some other fandom and I'll realize that I disaprove of it because I cannot think of any way it could possibly not end up abusive unless you changed the characters personalities completely.
> 
> And then I think of this.
> 
> And I think, Oh. Nevermind.
> 
> Also, I meant what I said. If any of you have ideas for a chapter title, feel free to mention it. Otherwise I'll fend for myself and see how weird I can make them.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please drop a comment and have a great day, and byeeeeee!


	9. All That Glitters Isn't Gold

Bill held no shame in admitting that he was having the time of his life, a feat made even more impressive by the fact that he couldn't actually remember how old he was, the number of years he'd lived having gotten so ridiculously large a few centuries ago that he'd simply gotten bored and stopped counting.

And yet, here he was, giddy like a pixie playing tricks.

The reason for his recently rediscovered fascination with life could be felt currently trying to slip out of bed, obviously believing him to be asleep. Well, Bill figured, the little brat was in for a surprise!

Not quite yet, though. He was in a playful, indulgent sort of mood.

So instead he kept his eyes shut, his ears sharp, and waited, his non-existent heart racing with giddy anticipation.

Dipper held his breath in some sort of tense bubble in his throat as he slipped slowly and carefully over the edge of the big white bed, biting his lip to make extra sure he was as silent as the grave whenever his swollen, purpled hand brushed against anything, which happened far more often then his low pain tolerance would have preferred. It almost all went to waste when something sharp jabbed into his ankle through his sock, and he jerked his foot back so quickly that his weight shifted and the bed dipped, only fractionally, but still enough to leave Dipper with his eyes squeezed shut and his body wound tighter then a spring, waiting to be caught by clawed fingernails and absurdly strong arms.

And he about started sobbing with relief when they didn't come, but still made himself stay silent.

This time he peeked over the edge before putting his foot down, and was so able to avoid stepping on the mysterious object under the edge of the bed that had just seconds earlier caused him so much grief. Instead his feet sank into a dirty carpet that, where not covered by earth or piles of junk and trinkets, looked like something straight out of the victorian era.

Not a sound came from behind him, and he didn't sense stirring.

He stood up.

_Nothing._

The first step of his escape was complete, and that was supposed to be the hardest. He just had to pick his foot up again and take another step now, both metaphorically and literally.

He looked around, hoping to see a door or exit of some kind that he had missed previously. Being at one time unconscious and another time crushed to a Faeries chest didn't exactly give one much of a view point, unfortunately. He couldn't remember exactly how he got here, but logically there must be a way out somewhere, otherwise how could he have gotten it? Yet all he saw were dirt walls, lit by soft glows and blue flames sconces set into the earth, with mountains of clutter piled everywhere.

Some were just random objects: clothes, jewelry, trinkets, small pieces of wood or precious metals, furniture that must have been ages old, thrown haphazardly and carelessly into miniature land fills once their owner grew bored of them, or they broke. That bag of hair. But some, he realized with disgust and a little bit of horror, were clearly organised with relish. To his left, by the foot of the bed, rose a tall pyramid, so tall it touched the roots hanging from the ceilings, and Dipper's skin began to crawl when he realized that it was made of human skulls. Few were larger then child sized, and they were stacked neatly, obsessed over it looked like, made into a perfect pyramid. Some skulls had runes etched into their foreheads and under the eye sockets, or were stained and painted, and they all stared emptily at him, as if begging to be crushed into nothingness and put out of their misery.

For one grim moment, Dipper wondered if all of them were the skulls of other boys, other ones that this Faerie had kidnapped and brought oh so kindly back to its den.

Maybe they had died here. Starved, murdered, sick from its magic, cursed. Maybe they had killed themselves, like Dipper had heard people sometimes did, tricked into it or by their own violation. He stared at them, and they stared back, and he shivered.

 _Just because I lost my shirt and it's cool in here,_  he told himself. He couldn't afford to be getting skittish if he wanted to get away.

He looked away easily, not really wanting to see that particular scene ever again, and forced his mind to stop its morbid ramblings and short circuiting, and instead focus on finding a way out. He spied something promising positioned partly behind a short, squat bookcase; a silky crimson curtain hung from the wall off of a rusty silver rod, the lower half of its vibrant red material tucked behind the bookshelf, but Dipper was sure that he could see a bit of glow to what was there, as if there was sunlight on the other side. He took one last look over his shoulder at the deceitfully sweet looking Faerie asleep on the bed, and started to tiptoe forward.

He moved as quickly and as quietly as was possible, until his shoes stopped sinking into the thick, muffling carpet and hit hard packed earth instead, and the bookcase and curtain loomed before him.

And then, just as he was starting to wonder how to move the bookcase and get out, he heard an exhale of breath above and behind him, almost a bored sigh, and he felt a finger run up his bare back.

"Peekaboo, I see you." The Faerie chanted, and gently took his shoulders, and pulled him back.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My my, is that a new chapter that I spy with my little eye? And, wait a moment, plot?! I thought those went extinct days ago....
> 
> Anyhow, yes, this is late. Obviously. But a combination of life and writers block formed a most deadly enemy to me this last week, and it took me a while to defeat them and stand triumphant once more. My most sincerest apologies. Not that anyone really cares anyways.
> 
> In response to the person who wanted to see a chapter of this uneddited, I repeat my previous message: over my dead body. But it may amuse you to know that there was originally a Rocky Horror Picture Show reference squeezed into this chapter before I fixed it up. RIP, time warp.
> 
> That's it, I'm done. Thanks for reading, though, and I truly do hope that you have a marvellous day to make up for the fact that you had to read this filth. Byeeeeeee!


	10. Tiptoe Through the Tulips With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue the time warp! The actual timey kind, not the dance. But if you want to get up and take a jump to the left, I won't stop you...
> 
> Oh, and hey, will you look at that beautiful full moon hanging over Gravity Falls tonight?

Dipper felt like he was walking on eggshells, and hidden beneath those eggshells there were dangerous traps; pools of poison and sharp knives sticking up from the ground, waiting to sink into him. Every step was a risk, and he never knew if he'd get away with it, or if this time his luck would run out and the eggshell ground he walked on would shatter beneath his feet.

Just because the Faerie hadn't truly damaged him yet, didn't mean it wouldn't in the future, after all. Though at this rate, it wouldn't even have to: his humanness was harming him enough.

He'd spent days in the Faeries den, or at least he assumed it was days. Time ran differently in the Fae realm; it took more twists and turns. Seven years could pass with the Fae and not a month with the humans.

A single evening could slip by and entire human civilizations could be born and die away.

But his achingly empty stomach suggested more than a few hours. It felt like someone was carving his insides away, bit by bit. His stomach had ceased to grumble long ago, and even the pangs had stops, leaving his eyes dull and the rest of him curled up in a tight little ball on the Faerie's bed. He didn't know where it had gone, or when it had, but occasionally he would drift off into a dreamless sleep and awake to see a new platter off food resting in front of him, smelling delicious enough to rival even Lazy Susan's pancakes.

There would be crackers, breads, sweet cakes still smelling warm from the oven. Fruits with shimmering skins, some familiar and others he had never seen, all looking mouthwateringly ripe and juicy. Fish and eggs, sometimes cooked, sometimes left raw, as if the Fae was experimenting with him. Edible plants and flowers, arranged to look as lovely as they would no doubt taste, if only Dipper would try them.

Like hell he would.

Stupid enough to get caught in the first place notwithstanding, Dipper wasn't stupid enough to eat Faerie food. He knew what would happen. He'd never be able to stop. And even if he did somehow manage to scrounge up the will power to avoid eating until he burst, any other foods would taste like ashes on his tongue, and he would waste away. The most delicious foods humans could make still held no candle to the blandest of Faerie meals.

If he took a single bite of that food, he would be even more lost then he already was.

He sighed, his throat dry and scratchy, and tried to stretch, but moving his shrinking stomach just made it ache more.

Nonetheless, he had to move. He had to get away.

Originally, Dipper had been unable to escape because every time he tried to slip away from a sleeping form or a turned back, he would discover that the Fae had just been tricking him, playing with him really. He would get to the entrance and just be reaching out to pull back the curtain, and there it would be, smirking like a middle child and sweeping him up in its surprisingly strong arms, running its tongue over his cheek, pressing chaste kisses to his lips, and lightly squeezing his broken hand.

The Fae wasn't here now, squeezing his hand or otherwise. It had disappeared a while ago, and he hadn't seen how it happened, but it must have slipped out the red, sunlit curtain while he wasn't looking.

Which meant that it was gone, at least for now, and he needed to stop just laying there, staring at Faerie delicacies and feeling sorry for himself, and move. Before it got back and smirked at him one more time, and he got so angry he did something stupid enough that it just gave up on playing its game and killed him.

His entire body felt like a million pounds of agonizing pain to move, but had to do it anyways.

He made himself sit up, and curved his back to keep himself as bent forward as possible, sparing himself what little pain he could by not suddenly stretching his aching midriff. It seemed like the edge of the bed was a hundred feet away, not just a few inches, and it hurt no matter how carefully he scooted closer to it.

 _Starving_ , he thought for the tenth million time,  _really fucking sucks_. If he made it out of here alive - which he most definitely would he forcefully reminded himself - he would never recommend starving to  _anyone._

He'd lost one shoe at some point, and his bare foot sunk into the thick carepet, and he sucked in a wheezy breath when he had to straighten up and look around.

Oh god how he hated it here. The mountains of treasures and broken, worthless things. The soft faerie magic lights on the earthy walls, twinkling occasionally, like they weren't somehow inherently evil just by association with the creature that had kidnapped him and done such awful things to him. The bed it left him on. The pyramid of skulls, which despite wishing to never see again he always found himself looking at. Every single thing he hated, and he would be glad to be rid of it all.

He creeped towards the curtain, tiptoeing even though the Faerie wasn't there to catch him and smirk its stupid smirk.

 _One can never be too careful_ , his brain sluggishly supplied him as he neared the wall. He reached out, and for the first time, his fingers brushed against crimson silk before something warm erupted behind him and he heard a familiar giggle before cold metal grabbed him around his neck and dragged him slowly back, fighting every step, keening and struggling to breath, into a slim body so familiar it was sickening.

"Trying to get away again, kid? Sorry! Maybe next time." It purred, not sounding sorry at all as it pulled what he realized was a cane away from around his neck, allowing him to finally choke some air down through his burning throat into his equally burning lungs. His stomach churned with anticipation as he waited for it to continue. "But we've got more important stuff then that to worry about right now! It's a full moon tonight, you know." It crowed, and his heart dropped.

"You know what that means, right?" It asked, as if not everyone raised in Gravity Falls did. He nodded, and its hand landed gently on his shoulder, running a finger up to his neck and back again, making invisible lines on his skin in a way that seemed almost loving, if one didn't know better.

"It's a revel." He whispered with horror as it dawned on him that the Faerie had said "we".

"That's right." It crooned, and dropped its hand down to run its claws over his ribs instead, circling his heart. "We're going to have such  _fun_ together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to look for a beta reader, so if anyone is interested, feel free to ask about that.
> 
> In other subjects, as you may have guessed, we're edging in on one of the biggest story arcs I have planned! If anyone has any last minute requests for a Faerie to appear, soon or now would be the time to mention them. If you'd like to give me challenge in the form of a trait or feature to base a background character around, or perhaps would like me to reference another fandom, that would be fine too.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far, it's much, much appreciated, and feel free to leave a comment, especially if it's constructive criticism, ideas, shameless flattery to make my ego levels rise, or a flame because honestly I've been waiting for one of those. Anyhow, byeeeee!


	11. Time Flies!

Faerie revels were celebrations held on nights when the moon was full and bright, and anyone raised in Gravity Falls knew to listen to the warnings and stay inside on these nights, no matter what. Otherwise there was little telling what fate may befall you. People who wandered out on full moon nights rarely came back alive, and some just weren't ever found.

Dipper knew there had been no warnings when he had first gotten it into his mind to go into the woods. There always were warnings around full moons, scrawled by his uncle or parents in red pen on the calender, or coming in scratchily on the TV. In fact, Dipper was fairly certain that the nearest full moon had been several days away when he had gotten caught.

His suspicions, while half proved by his caved in stomach, still hurt being confirmed by the creatures words. Who knew how long he had been stuck here?

"Aren't you excited, little lamb? Your first revel. You'll have the attention of all the big kids in the park." The Faerie crooned, unknowing of his down spiralling thoughts, and nuzzled against him like a particularly demanding cat that just happened to have one razor sharp claw held against Dipper's frozen heart. "I'll make sure that all eyes will be on you." It whispered, and slowly dragged its hand away.

Dipper jerked away the moment he felt himself freed, gagging and growing dizzy with shock and disgust and  _terror_ at the creatures words, and when his knees weakened he dropped like a rock, hitting the dirt with a sickening  _thud_. He immediately leaned forward to vomit, however there was no food in his stomach for him to throw up. So instead he simply crouched there on the ground at the Faerie's feet, gagging up bile and coughing so hard that he could have sworn he felt his lungs trying to crawl up his dry throat.

"Not a party person, then?" Bill wondered in understatement, watching with his eyebrow raised at the boy, watching dispassionately as he... did something. Bill wasn't really sure what was happening. However the boy didn't seem to be enjoying it much, so he assumed that it wasn't a sign of excitement.

Which was absurd, because who wouldn't be excited about a revel?

Revels were magical! They were one of the oldest traditions of an even older race! Filled with laughter and wonder and lust, and twisting turns and thousands of possibilities. There was music of every kind imaginable, played on instruments that weren't, by the best musicians in the Court. Food, only the best and most delicious, spilling in decadent falls off of tables. Drinks more plentiful and sweet then the fruit they came from, making the mind fuzzy with pleasure and liquid cheer. Flower bouquets and magical lights and bright shades of glittery pixie dust scattered everywhere, creating a stunningly beautiful assault of colour to the eyes. Dancing, riotous and uncontrollable and free, in front of the Queen and on top of the overflowing tables.

There was the hunt that sometimes followed after, chasing fear scented bodies through the underbrush on horseback or on foot, and deciding what to do with them once caught.

Oh yes, Bill positively  _loved_ revels.

He was brought back from his musings by the boy starting to choke for lack of air, and he huffed as he rushed to the rescue. He carried the little shaking body to the bed, where he crooned sweet sounding nonsense and false promises and twisted himself around the boy until he fell asleep, wet eyes slipping slowly shut and sweat dampening the fluffy brown hair that covered his forehead.

Bill smiled as he reached up and very carefully moved that hair back, fingers spidery soft over the boy's skin. His magic would keep him from waking, but there was no sense in tempting trouble.

Stretched across the boy's forehead was a spattering of marks, in a form so perfect and flawless it looked as though someone had painted them on. In fact, when Bill has first noticed it, a night or two after he had brought the boy home, he  _had_  thought it was painted on, and tried rubbing it off.

When it didn't erase, or even leave smudges on his finger, he realized what it was.

There was a constellation on the boy's pale, perfect skin, engrained so well into it that it had actually become something permanent, a birthmark. Whether he had truly had it since birth or not, Bill was not sure, but the important thing was that he had it.

Faeries liked the exotic. The new, the interesting, the bright and mysterious. It was why the Seelie court kidnapped the most beautiful and unique of human children, and the Unseelie held regular hunts for the tourists that flocked to Gravity Falls from places far away. It was to get a glimpse of something new and unusual and charming, to find something in between "has been here" and "hasn't been here" and take it for themselves. Anything to fascinate their age old minds, even for a little while.

The fact that the stars were emblazoned on this human child's forehead did just that for Bill. It made him wonder if this skinny, tearful, full of fight little boy might be able to hold his interest for a bit longer then a sparkly trinket or a game.

Bill traced the markings carefully with his fingers, shivering with anticipation for a moment when the boy whimpered in his sleep, before the tiny body shuffled a little bit more deeply into him, as if seeking comfort.

Bill's smile turned into a grin, sharp and beautiful enough to be deadly.

Honestly. The kid had better play nice tonight, otherwise he wouldn't be worth the trouble Bill went to for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still looking for a beta! If you're interested, or already were interested and just didn't notice my reply in the comments, then an email address is now on our profile. Please send me an email, and I'll get back to you!
> 
> So recently, I decided that if I was going to bother with complaining about how few books there are out there with non-Disney-ish Faeries, I might as well read all the ones I could get my hands on before I whined too much. So I grabbed a few suitably sized book bags, deigned to leave my safe, comfortable hole in the ground for a while, and sashayed off to one of my favourite places on earth: the local public library! Wherein I actually found more then I had expected I would, at least once I had bothered to lower myself to checking those devilish computer catalogues. Safe to say, I checked out as many as I could carry, and fully intend to return for more as soon as these are finished! After all, I practically feed off of this stuff, in addition to tea and biscuits of course! (Also while there I somehow mentioned my fanfiction to the librarians, so if either of you two are reading this, hi!)
> 
> Anyhow, my ramblings aside, thank you so much for reading! Please tell me in the comments if you have any favourite Faerie books for me to look around for, and have a luverly day! Byeeeee!


	12. Calling All the Monsters

Dipper woke hours later, tucked tightly against a thin chest, and for a moment he actively tried to make himself think that it was literally anyone else then who he knew it really was. He didn't even really care who. It could be a complete stranger, for all he cared. It could be Robbie, weird as that would be. He just really didn't want to face reality for a few more minutes.

His wants, much like his wishes, rarely came true.

The moment he accepted his crappy life and opened his eyes, the Fae started to move. It jerked away from him, tugging its fingers from his with a surprising gentleness that made him feel like vomiting again, and rolled off the bed, starting to hum some continuously evolving tune under its breath.

"Finally!" It murmured. "It felt like you were never going to wake up!"

Dipper felt lost in the middle of a crowd, and he hadn't even been dragged off to the revel yet.

Crawling out of bed a second time was agony, even with the Faerie helping him, which he absolutely hated. He didn't want help from the monster that had kidnapped him and brought him to such ruin in the first place. The vague look on the Faeries tanned and beautiful face, like it couldn't quite decide whether to be concerned or amused and so was doing both, had made him want to scream for the thousandth time since he had been spirited away. He'd gritted his teeth the entire time its hand had rested carefully on his shoulder, so hard he was amazed they hadn't cracked.

And now here he stood, stomach somehow roiling despite being empty, watching with distaste as the Faerie rooted energetically through its mountains of abandoned clutter. He barely scrambled to the side fast enough to avoid what looked like a cape royalty might wear, thick shimmery fabric dyed a viabrant purple with white fur trim and delicate golden chains sewed on with no apparent order sailing narrowly past him. It was followed by a dark wooded foot stool with carved feet and a crack that only worsened upon contact with the ground, and a flurry of papers that could have been an unpublished Shakespearean play for all Dipper saw before they were covered by more treasures and sheets of parchment.

"Well daffodils and eternal damnation! I could 'ave sworn I had something kinda small about! A few years ago there was this family of campers, you see, and- oh! I forgot I had this!" The Faerie said with a brightness so blinding that it set Dipper on edge. The creature held up a tarnishing silver chamber pot like it contained all the treasure in the world, dull greying silver glinting in the blue lighting. "This used to be one of my rivals, back when I was a knight! I figured he was pretty shitty as it was." It giggled at its own petty excuse for a joke, before tossing the pot back into another pile and going back to rummaging around, occasionally tossing something over its dark shoulder.

Dipper wasn't sure how much time passed, but by the time the Fae cried out in victory, he was sitting at the side of the bed, well out of throwing distance, and staring at his shoes, a slight headache that had formed days ago steadily growing worse from the clanging and giggling and fractured explanations that only raised more questions.

"Pine Tree! I found it!" Clawed fingers tugged his chin upwards despite his weak resistance, and the Faerie's fanged smile filled his vision for a moment before it pulled back and Dipper saw that it was holding something.

It reminded him eerily of Mabel's many sweaters, the jumper clutched in its other hand. It was creamy white, the colour of ivory, and looked too soft to have been made by humans for humans. It probably wasn't, he realized, as it released him and held up the sweater proudly with both hands, the different angle making it so that Dipper could see the slits in the back made for delicate pixie wings, and the tiny splatter of bright green blood on the collar.

"Nice, huh? Spider silk and dandelion fluff, if I remember correctly. It'll look good on you, sweetmeat. After I clean it up, of course." It snapped its fingers, and the blood stain disappeared. Moments later it was flung at him, soft and delicate fabric landing in his lap and pooling like milk. "I'll find you something extra sparkly to go around that tempting little neck of yours, too, of course! I want you to look good for my friends, after all!" It laughed, but it said the word 'friends' like even it didn't truly believe that it was capable of having real friends so much as maybe minions.

Dipper realized as it turned and stalked away, realized rather stupidly late he felt, that the Faerie expected him to wear the jumper.

That was both a shock and a relief and a cause for suspicion all at the same time. Why would it care what he was wearing? Was it plotting something? He had been assuming that he'd be dragged off to the revel as he was, in the clothes he'd been taken in. He had thought he'd be wearing his shoes, socks and shorts that hadn't been changed in days, cold and vulnerable and without a shirt. But as a pair of fairly new looking, child sized human shoes with bloodied laces, as though the wearer had trudged through a puddle of the liquid, sailed through the air and landed near him, he felt his heart jump in his chest.

Somehow, for some reason, he didn't feel glad to be getting a change of clothes from the ones he already had, which are starting to smell like sweat and bile and honeyed poison. These were the clothes he had been taken in. They were what he had left of his home, and a constant reminder that he  _had_  a home. Probably. Assuming fifteen centuries hadn't passed in the human world already. He didn't want to take them off until he was home safe and sound, where there would be another pair of everything in his closet. poison On the other hand, what choice did he have? He was so sick he could barely stand for more then a few minutes, and if the Faerie wanted something that would not harm him further, he would be a fool to refuse and make it worse. And what evil could a change of clothes do, really, assuming that none of it was cursed and that he ignored the unsavoury tales the Faerie told him of where it had gotten the articles from.

Yet he felt naked already, without even changing.

He stopped himself before he could think along those lines anymore. It wouldn't help him to panic over something so meaningless. He refused to get upset. He had to plan. Plot. Scheme. Figure out how he could survive a Faerie revel in one piece, without being poisoned or eaten or enchanted or turned into a silver chamber pot. He was too distracted, first by vomiting and then by staring at his shoes, but he realized like a slap to the face that this was probably still the same day he had originally been planning to use to escape.

Maybe he still could.

Humans got into Faerie revels often enough, more often unwillingly then willingly. Yet sometimes it was intentional, to make a deal or try to catch a glimpse of another world and live to tell the tale, though that rarely turned out well. Dipper was suddenly reminded of what he had thought the first time he had tried to escape, when his reach in Faerieland had only been this room, and this room alone. What his logic had been.

If you could get in, then there had to be a way out.

With that thought in mind, he pulled out the knots on his trainers and kicked them off, though he exchanged the laces before pulling on the new pair, all the while shuddering at the feeling of dried blood cracking along the cord in his fingers. When that was done, he swallowed his reservations and his thoughts of his sister, and pulled the jumper over his head.

It was too big, even if it had clearly been made with a pixie in mind. Pixies ranged in size from the length of a daisy from petal tip to petal tip, to the size of an average sized human. Dipper was only a child, and a small, scrawny one at that. The moment he moved his arms, the wide ribbed collar slipped over his shoulders.

Maybe not as warm as he'd hoped, then, though the soft fluffy fabric still felt warm and cozy over what it did cover. When the Faerie stalked over with a collar of carefully cracked biotite and multicoloured labradorite, with a cameo that portrayed not a women's face but a peacock, Dipper swallowed his complaints at the overly girly piece and let its slim fingers hang it around his neck, perhaps a bit too tightly. He wasn't sure whether it was intentional or not on the Faerie's part, nor was he going to find out.

It wrapped its arms around his shoulders and leaned over to hiss in his good ear, hot breath rolling over his tender skin and sending a shiver up his spine. "Close your eyes, kitten." It whispered, voice soft and sibilant and full of promises. "You're not going to want to see this."

A part of him wanted to keep his eyes open, because maybe it was about to expose the way out of here, or some strange weakness it had. But on the other hand, the possibility that it really meant it, that something terrible to see was going to happen, something that was so terrible that even it, the cruel, absurd bastard that it was, realized its terribleness. It was that thought that made him snap his eyes shut and squeeze his lids together, breathing fast through his nose.

A moment later, he felt warm, but not quite hot. He felt an overwhelming feeling of deja vu, before that feeling disappeared to be replaced by the utter lack of his senses save the somewhat gross feeling of being shoved through something hot and wet. That was followed by a squeezing sensation that pressed tightly enough to his tender, shrivalling stomach to make him cry out, though he still dared not open his eyes. Whatever was happening, he was certain he did not want to see it. Finally, after what seemed like forever but had probably just been a few seconds, the feeling disappeared and all other sensations slammed back to life as all of his other senses besides touch returned to him.

He heard blaringly loud music, different songs of all different types being played on different instruments, blending together into some sort of ear breaking mashup that was both wonderful and migraine inducing.

The smells of blood and cooked meat and flowers and ale and wet fur assaulted his nose, like a thousand perfumes at the mall counter, each one worse than the last.

He opened his eyes, and colours of every shade imaginable leaped out at him. A pine green pixie, a girl with russet fur on her bare hips, an ogre the colours of Autumn leaves, a boy and a girl with bright pink roses growing from their collar bones, a man with hair whiter then new snow, an elf sipping something blue from a cup and fiddling with his carrot orange hair. Blood red, both richly fresh and dulling old, colouring the caps of redcaps as they taunted a boy with silver grasshopper legs and the frightened iridescent winged girl holding his hand.

Despite himself, despite how much he hated it, when the Faerie moved to let him go he immediately grabbed its hand. He didn't look up, knowing that if he did he'd see a smug, predatory smirk and probably be dragged off to some shadowed nook where he'd find fingers on his skin and fangs against his lips, but he didn't dare to let go either. Instead he clung to its arm, held it against his chest, dug his nails into the freckled skin to make sure it couldn't be pulled away.

He'd vastly overestimated how calm he'd be when surrounded by a thousand creatures straight out of Fairy Tales, and as much as he utterly loathed it, despised it, he realized that he was going to need to stay closer to this monster then he'd hoped if he wasn't going to get himself pulled apart, both metaphorically and quite possibly literally.

At least until he could properly get back on his feet and find the way that led not only in, but out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Please don't stone me for being late! I actually have a reason, okay? A little something occurred with the editing and after several days of nothing but building anxiety, today I decided, hey, screw it! I'll just go back to doing it the old fashioned way: If it's bad then the readers can tell me.
> 
> So that's your job, guys. Tell me when I start going down hill at a rapid and continuous rate. Assuming that hasn't been happening since the beginning. Be as brutal as you wish!
> 
> Thanks for reading, have a wonderful day, and byeeeeeee!


	13. Pointless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to grasshopper boy from last chapter. You and your girlfriend will be missed. RIP.

"Close your eyes, kitten." Bill whispered, exhaling and inhaling against the side of the boy's head, breathing in his smells. He smelled of sickness and weakness and scheming, and Bill wondered if this night would bring about more then he had expected.

He kind of hoped that it would.

"You're not going to want to see this." He purred, before standing up straight again, though still watching to make sure the child did as asked and hid his pretty little eyes away like he was told to.

He did, and Bill took a moment to just look him over. He had to say, he was quite delighted with what he saw.

Over the days he had been away, the boy's hair had grown tangled and somewhat damped from natural oils, giving it the dull gleam of an unpolished stone bead, yet it didn't look strange. Rather, it gave him the wild, disheveled look that most of the Fae were so well known for, himself included. Bill couldn't even remember the last time his hair had been anything but a glorious mess of wheat gold curls.

The creamy, soft-to-the-touch jumper he'd found blended in with the pale, purple smudged skin of the boy's bare shoulders. The biotite mica and labradorite collar he'd unearthed, a relic of some long past era, made the smudges stand out more, made the blues and purples of lingering bruises appear brighter, more vivid. His eyes, the colour of dried oak leaves, were now closed, but could have used a stripe or two of kohl, he supposed. It was too late now, of course.

Besides, the peculiar dryness they'd had since the boy had woken up earlier, as if out of tears for now, was far more dramatic then the artful black smears of soot could ever hope to be.

He wasted a few more seconds then he'd meant to, drinking in the human boy's appearance and complimenting his own work, wondering what the revel would be like with a mortal by his side. He wondered if the boy was old enough to drink. He supposed he'd find out.

And then he sparked a flame.

The feel of magic in the air alerted him more quickly to when they had arrived than any of his other senses. It was quickly followed the sounds, the smells, the feel of the ground quivering from the dancing all around them. The sight of Faeries both familiar and stranger, with a sprinkling of mortal faces and normal, unmagical animals. He saw faces of every colour, splotches and swirls of face paint and ink, braids and dreadlocks and hair strung with beads and bones, dresses made of of flowers, suits dyed with tea and blood and turmeric, silver armour and leather tailcoats. He drank in and thrived off of the taste of Faerie and magic and daring in the air, lived off of the sense of possibly that seeped through the entire hollowed out hill.

He heard a terrified scream followed by the sound of wings tearing, and something in him settled into place like a piece of a puzzle.

He was brought back by something shifting in his arms, and he moved to release the boy, who he was still holding close.

One arm was all he unwrapped from the boy's violently coloured shoulders before his other was snatched by the same hand he had broken several nights ago, and the other hand dug its chipped nails into the back of his hand. The boy was staring stubbornly at his chest, his fingers digging into Bill's hand squeezing so tightly they trembled. Bill could feel his sudden stillness through his vest and jacket, seeping out like sap from a tree. He smirked, and squeezed back.

Nothing. Not a single twitch.

"What's the matter, sweetness?" Bill crooned, unable to whisper lest his voice be lost in the racket. A nearby girl with the speckled lower body of a doe turned to look at them, her deadly sharp antlers filled with lit candles and dripping wax like a living chandelier, her giant eyes curious for a moment before she turned back to dancing with a satyr. An ogre draped in pelts and skins trundled past, obviously drunk and violent, snarling at everyone in sight. A woman clad in giant hibiscus blossoms and tooth jewelry jumped onto a table and began to sing, her spellbinding voice catching the attention of a decent sized crowd as she sang the tale of a young nixie trickster who fed off of men's flesh.

"Don't lose me." He almost missed the boy's hoarse voice, it was so low and quiet. Why was his voice so weak sounding recently, Bill wondered for less then a second, before leaning down and concentrating on the wavery voice again. "Please don't lose me. I don't want to be lost here." The boy rasped, fingers shaking harder, eyes glaring harder at the buttons on his vest. Bill felt like he would catch on fire at any moment now. Yet he didn't, and instead he chuckled.

"And what makes you think I'd so easily lose such an amusing little thing as you?" He purred, and grinned a fang-filled grin as the boy's grip loosened

Another puzzle piece settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now we know what happened to that poor boy and girl from last chapter. Oops.
> 
> So this was actually originally going to blend with Dipper's POV, but I realised while writing that I didn't really like the transition, so I just split them up before I went any further. Hence why this chapter has only a small amount of foreshadowing, but really nothing else, aside of course from Bill marvelling at how pretty bruises are, a tiny bit of world building, and a requested cervitaur prompt. On the upside, the next chapter should take much less time to get up, assuming I don't get distracted by the existence of "The Umbrella Academy" on Netflix. Which, admittedly, I probably will. Yet here's hoping.
> 
> Thank you for reading, short as it was, and please leave a comment because, well, I love them. There's no other reason. I hope you have a tolerable if not wonderful day, and byeeeee!


	14. Make Me Immortal With a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day that I'm actually happy with what I write is the day my dachshund learns to bark to go outside. Both are equal in their near impossibility. Enjoy the chapter, folks. Dipper sure won't.

There were a lot of things that Dipper would have preferred to hear than "What makes you think I'd so easily lose such an amusing little thing as you?" Much less sinister things. For instance, a simple "okay" would have sufficed, and it wouldn't have implied that he only had the Fae's already questionable protection so long as he was considered entertaining, which would have been very nice since he didn't really know what the Faerie found so interesting about him in the first place, other then his pain.

However, he supposed that this was the closest to a promise of protection as he was going to get. It was  _something_  to go off of, some form of assurance that he wouldn't get lost in the dangerous revel going on around them, weak and slippery as that assurance was.

He'd take it. He'd take whatever he could get, from whomever he could get it from, at least for now.

He loosened his hold, and with a greater amount of effort and concentration then a healthy person would have probably needed, he drew in a breath that tasted like warm ale and the sweet perfume of toxic mountain laurel. "Alright." He choked out, and tried to drop its hand completely. Before he could, though, its fingers slipped between his and refused to let go.

"Come on." Was all the warning he got before the Fae stepped back and yanked him after it, tugging him through the throng. Two ogres started to fight where he had stood just moments ago, and a nymph with pear green eyes and flowers in its equally green hair smiled at him as they passed. He barely even noticed smiling back, too enthralled by its eyes to stop until he was pulled out of eye contact by the hand pulling him along.

"So this is what's been capturing all of your attention lately!" Someone cried from behind them, and Dipper was dragged along as the Faerie twisted around to see who was speaking.

A Faerie, definitely female Dipper noted, stared down at him, blinking the one huge pink eye set in the middle of its equally pink, curious looking face. This Faerie's skin was almost entirely fuschia, except for its arms and a strip across its thighs, where it faded to white before turning pink again at its feet. Huge pink horns bent like a hartebeest jutted from the sides of its head, and a few smaller ones grew in a line, starting at its forehead and following the part in its dark magenta hair. It saw him staring, and grinned at him, showing teeth bigger and sharper then should have reasonably fit in its mouth, before it aimed that grin at the Faerie holding Dipper's hand and began to speak, ignoring him completely.

Behind it loomed a massive troll with thick fur the colour of stormy water or wet slate, tiny saplings beginning to grow on its dirt covered back, and a face hidden away. It brushed against the roots of trees sticking through the dirt ceiling, it was so tall, and whenever it moved the earth around it trembled.

Dipper couldn't see the massive beast's eyes, but he felt like it was staring at him, judging and dismissing him, and  _he_   _fucking hated it._ He hated it so much that he stared right back, for the moment letting his glare carry all of his pent up frustrations and misery from the days he'd been kept imprisoned, unknowingly ending up looking so startlingly simular to a certain court member through only the sheer rage and wretchedness his tiny body contained, that The Being Whose Name Must Never Be Said felt a fleeting moment of apprehension.

Hopefully  _she_  would not concern herself with this, it thought, and looked away, paying attention instead to a sprite munching on a spider, not noticing the skinny, brilliant orange cat creeping up on it from behind.

As the sense of being picked apart by an invisible gaze faded and the other two Faeries conversed, Dipper realized that the hand holding his was gradually loosening its hold. It still wasn't anywhere close to slipping away completely, but it was just barely loose enough that he could move without it tightening around his fingers again.

So that was precisely what he did. He turned around, his back facing the Faerie, and looked around in hopes of spotting a door or a curtain, a crack in the crumbling walls even, or perhaps another human.

Instead, he caught sight of the green eyes nymph from earlier, though they did not meet gazes again. One of the ogres who had fought earlier stumbled fast, evidently the winner of their small battle, as the other was nowhere in sight and blood clearly coated this ogres sharp, jagged teeth. There was a pale green goblin with white hair and eyes with black edges and strange pupils, reminiscent of figure eights, perhaps. A woman with dark skin and an hourglass figure strode by, laughing with a friend, all three of her different coloured eyes alight with dangerous humour.

The only real human he saw was a dainty young woman with short, muddy blonde hair and a wreath of torn and mashed leaves on her head, choking down Faerie fruit as if her life depended on the sweet, bruised and almost rotting flesh of the apples that she was gobbling down. The crowd parted just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of her, before she was swallowed back up by it again just as quickly.

He felt a shudder run up his spine, and edged slightly closer to the Faerie, leaning ever so lightly against it, half to ensure that he would not wind up like the girl, and half just to keep himself standing. He felt dead on his feet, and his stomach had gone so long empty that just the sight of the woman eating had made him feel sick.

He didn't want to be like her. He didn't properly recognise her, but he knew he didn't want to be like her. Anything but trapped here, his own mind made insignificant as his body and heart yearned for just one more taste of Faerie, and the false sense of glory that came with it. He didn't want to be the boy huddled on the floor as monsters danced all around him, desperately wolfing down bruised fruit covered in dirt, spoiled apples and grapes and wild plums dropped to him by those very same monsters just so that they could laugh as he wasted away later.

Anything but that. He would sooner tempt death then that.

He jerked his hand away on a split second impulse that even he didn't understand, and instantly regretted it, because his knees almost immediately felt ready to give out and his now freed hand, much like the rest of him, suddenly felt very,  _very_ cold. He hadn't really meant to pull away, and he had no plan of what to do afterwords. He still hadn't seen anything that looked like an entrance or an exit. There wasn't anywhere he could spot that he could use to hide and not be found almost at once. There wasn't even a sign of the blond girl, she had long since been hidden from view, and Dipper knew he would not find her. It was like a reflex to startle or to strike when someone snuck up on him, a decision made without his consent, but suddenly horrifyingly out there.

Whether he was regretful of that reflex or not, the Faerie's claws were already reaching to grab him again, a possessive gleam in that butter coloured eye as it glanced down at him, and Dipper figured that that trick wouldn't work twice.

He turned and ran before he could properly sort out what the hell he was doing.

Both fortunately and unfortunately for Dipper, he ended up running straight into the center of the revel. This was fortunate because there was nothing quite like a hundred twirling, bending, frolicking Fae to conceal one from sight. Yet far more importantly, this was unfortunate because it meant that he was now lost in the fray, something more dangerous then he could have ever imagined, and he had already been imagining some rather grim things from the very start of the night.

This, though, was beyond even him.

Leers and smiles and toothy, hungry looking smirks leapt out at him, dresses and veils and talons brushed against his bare shoulders, and he found himself constantly tripping over one thing or another, skirts and glass bottles and still forms. Some Faeries bumped uncaringly into him, before swirling away as if not even noticing, while others fixed him with long unreadable looks and still others seemed to practically follow him around the mass of twisting bodies, reappearing in the corner of his vision again and again.

Being lost in the middle of a crowd is like being told that you have only a few more months to live. You don't know where you're going, where you should be going, and generally just have no clue what is happening around you.

Being lost in this particular crowd was like confronting your death head on without even a warning, and still having no clue what the fuck was going on, other then that you wanted to survive, no matter the costs, no matter that you knew your chances of doing so were realistically less then zero.

Despite knowing that, really, death is one of the kinder things that may happen to you here.

When the hand first grabbed him by his bruised, aching shoulder, sending fresh sparks of pain to join the fire already burning like a torrent inside of him, Dipper's first thought, his mind bleary and confused and panicked, was that it was the Faerie, catching up to him already. A single glance backwards proved otherwise, as a girl with the lower body of a fawn stared back, her big, doey eyes glittering in the light of dozens of candles settled among her huge, reindeer-like antlers.

He felt silly for a moment. Her hand had felt completely different, smaller and lacking claws, and gentle in a way that didn't suggest hidden strength and cruelty so much as true gentleness.

Her eyes said the exact opposite, sparkling with the kind of shameless mischief that doesn't care for the consequences, so long as the joke is fun.

She smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him, grabbing his head with one hand and tilting his head back at an awkward angle, prying his mouth open with hers and flooding it with the taste of sweet delicious Faerie wine, while the other hand clutched the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the plot of this is more then slightly ripped from "The Darkest Part of the Forest" by Holly Black. But it's either that or no smut, and judging by a few comments I've gotten in the past, you guys are wanting smut. So surprise snogging/drugging it is. My brother and I have affectionately dubbed this "Surprise! Faerie assault!" and taken to occasionally yelling its name at the grocery store. I encourage you to do the same, especially if you're the sort that likes to make people think you are half mad.
> 
> In other news, I'm going in a trip. This is of course entirely against my will, because if I had my way, I would never leave this house and the area surrounding it. However, this is relevant because I have no idea when I'll be able to start writing the next chapter. I might be able to get something done while traveling, I may not. Probably the latter though.
> 
> Oh, and by the way, I totally got distracted by "The Umbrella Academy." I am not happy with the cliff hanger.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave a comment, and byeeeee!


	15. Watch the World Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the cliffie in advance. Please read end notes for explaination. Farewell.

Bill wasn't sure exactly how the current events had come to be, but he would be a fool not to admit that they were certainly the spicing up of things that he'd been half-hoping for.

One moment he'd been chatting with Pyronica, the boy safely attached to his side, and the next, the little human child was staggering away from him and quickly disappearing into the crowd of dancers. It was as if the foolish little boy was inviting him to play, a game of hide and go seek, tag and I spy all rolled into one. And the prize for Bill when he inevitably won was the sight of hope going out of those pretty, walnut brown eyes, and those sweet, bitable lips forming words of defeat so quiet even he would barely be able to hear them.

However, he had to finish playing the game to win. He had to find the boy first. So there he stood, perched on a long bench crafted from rough hewn wood that teetered beneath the additional weight of him alongside the barrels upon barrels of ale and diluted dandelion cordial it already held. He stared out over the crowd, looking for a head of oily, wild looking hair a precise shade of chestnut, softer then the fur of a wolf pup and attached to a scrawny form the likes of which could make Apomimisi drool.

His chances were about equal to that of finding a needle in a haystack, he figured. Chestnut brown hair wasn't exactly an uncommon colour in the world of Faerie. No colour was uncommon. Yellows and reds swirled together into impossible shades of green and purple and silvery grey, and eyes flashed either as black as coal or contained every colour of the rainbow. Bill thought he saw the boy several times, only to realize with growing annoyance that what he'd seen actually did have the fur of a bear, not simply hair in a simular shade.

Luckily enough, Bill was fairly certain that he actually had found a needle in a haystack at some point. Probably back when he was still making deals with mortals.

There, Bill thought with triumph, when he finally saw the right colour and it wasn't shaggy fur. "I spy, with my little eye..." He hopped from the bench, barrels rattling and bumping against one another in his wake before a crash sounded and he heard the unmistakable voice of a bean sidhe wailing that her dress was now wet. He did not turn to look, rather fixating on where he was going, where, through the crowd, he could occasionally catch a glimpse of creamy white spider silk and bruised purple skin.

Other Fae didn't quite part around him, but a path split just before his every step, empty of swirling bodies and gaping maws for a mere moment before closing again behind him, and Bill skipped cheerfully through the soiree, bubbling with delight in the knowledge that he'd won their little game.

When he was close enough to see him clearly, from the dreamy, glazed look to his pretty brown eyes to the tilt of his head, vacant and confused, he wasn't sure whether his delight grew or shrunk or disappeared completely to be replaced by something else entirely.

He knew that look. He'd almost forgotten about that particular weakness in humans, but he recognised it, from the far back dregs of his memory. The tell tale signs, so to speak, were in the suggestible glint to the child's strangely dry eyes, the tint of red wine to his slightly parted lips, and perhaps the most telling sign of all, the giggling cervitaur who swung the bottle.

Actually, that was always a telling sign.

Whatever mischief the girl had been planning to carry out evidently was a abandoned the moment she saw him coming towards them, because she turned on all four of her heels and scampered off with more grace and speed then Bill would have thought possible for someone with hot candle wax dropping onto their hind quarters, her movement so quick that she dropped the decanter she'd been holding. Bill saw no reason to follow, so instead he grabbed the drink before it could even touch the ground, the sweet smelling liquid inside swishing within the darkly coloured glass. He practically felt the boy's eyes immediately focus and fixate on him. Or rather, the wine in his hand.

Then the boy blinked up at him, the pupils of his eyes so huge they nearly drowned out the brown, and then... He smiled. Big and real and fascinating, full off teeth and hot breath that, even above the multitude of other smells attacking his fine tuned senses at the moment, Bill could tell tasted of the same hint of rose and pomegranate as the scent that wafted from the decanter.

Bill's eye widened, and heat exploded in his belly like a salamander in a hearth, and a crooked grin split across his beautiful face, triumphant and dangerously hungry looking, the kind of smile that, had the boy been lucid at the moment, would have made him cry out and struggle to get away.

But Dipper was far from in his right mind at the moment, and the boy only smiled back wider, dark eyes clouded and soft cheeks red with merriment that was not his own. He looked impish, for a moment. The whimsy of the Fae combined with the deliciously weak resolve of a human. He was all big, strange smiles, and just enough bare skin, and too far gone to struggle.

Bill barely brushed his fingers to the boy's chin and he was already leaning into the touch, like a cat begging to be stroked.

"Tag, you're it." Bill crooned, and the boy blinked, nuzzled him, and opened his mouth to speak.

"What are you." He slurred, voice lower and slower then his usual angry reediness, and grabbed Bill's hand, cradling it to his cheek. "You're so weird." He said.

Bill couldn't help it. He laughed, making a few of the Fae closest to them back away in alarm, and others fall quiet. Yet the boy just grinned, edging closer in what he probably thought was a subtle manner, looking up at Bill with eyes that screamed of enchantment and loss of free will, save for what the wine wanted him to retain.

"You think?" Bill cooed softly, and tugged his hand away, dropping it down to press against the boy's back instead, leading him even closer, pressing him securely against his legs again. His eyes never left Bill's face. "You look awfully lovely, Pine Tree. I bet there isn't a single person here who wouldn't want to just eat you up." Some more literally then others, he thought with a mental chuckle. "You're the prettiest Pine Tree here."

The boy's smile widened, and he fluttered his eyelashes. It was half cute, half foolish, and a whole lot of inviting. Then he seemed to think of something, and his smile straightened the tiniest bit."You think I'm pretty? I'm not supposed to be. I'm a boy." He said, like he was getting half a mind to start an argument, and Bill smiled indulgently.

He'd won the game. There was no point in not playing along with another one, at least for now. He'd get his prize later.

"Of course you are. But you're not just pretty like a girl," He purred tolerantly, giving the boy a sharp-toothed smirk. "You're far more fetching. You're pretty like a speck of mica among a beach full of ordinary pebbles, or a daffodil in a field of roses." He said.

The boy's smile changed more, almost dropping away, though the enchantment ensured that the barest hint of it stayed. "You think that I'm that pretty like that?" He mumbled, then before Bill could answer, he blurted out, "Do you want me?" in a scared, still slurred voice, and swayed away from Bill as if the answer to the question would burn him.

Bill giggled, delighted and inherently cruel, and the space around them, already empty, grew. "Of course I want you! Why else would I have taken you? There's no point in taking what I don't want." He said.

It was quiet for a moment, in that strange way that can be both deafeningly silent and ear breakingly loud at the same time. The revel carried on around them, the music, the singing, the stamping of feet and the sounding of screams, the crashing and the splintering of wood, the pouring of liquor and the sound of laughter never ceasing. Bill barely heard it though, too intent on the boy's face, waiting for him to move, for his expression to change, for a single sound to form from his tongue.

"Then, you really want to touch me... like that?" The boy asked finally, quietly, that peculiar smile beginning to grow on his face again, dreamy and mysterious, and a little bit eager.

Bill wanted to do much more then touch him, but he nodded.

The boy's face lit up like a bonfire, and he leaned back into Bill again, looking up at him through his eyelashes and smiling with sugary sweet fakeness, the concentration of moments ago vanished. Instead, the impishness was back, begging to be paid attention to, and he looked less in control of himself then ever. His eyes flickered between Bill and the wine he held, and he grabbed a hold of the hem of Bill's vest, tugging it weakly, begging him to bend down so that he could whisper a secret.

Again, Bill indulged him, leaning down. His hair slipped over his shoulder and formed a makeshift curtain of riotous golden tangles, a mess of curls that blocked the boy's moving lips from the view of anyone who may have been watching.

"Then go ahead and touch me." The boy whispered, and closed his eyes, tilting his head up like a flower to the sun.

Honestly, if he'd know this would happen, Bill would have slipped the boy something containing alcohol days ago.

The wake of blue flames caught the eyes of many, but they were both long gone, in so many ways.

For the first time in centuries, Bill stumbled as the flames faded and the world formed again, to reveal the treasure troves of old forgotten relics and broken amusements, the pristine white sheets and elaborate headboard of his bed, and the root infested ceiling of his room. But he felt that his temporary lack of grace was justified in the fact that the little human boy had basically just melted into his legs and looked cute enough to fuck into oblivion.

Bill wanted to touch every inch of the child at once. He wanted to cover him with his body, cover himself with _his_  body. He wanted to carve out the boy's chest cavity and live there, his hands around the boy's heart, warm and hot and deliciously close, bathing in the closeness and the moans and the pain.

He wanted to do a million things all at once and then a million more, and every single one of them included the boy wearing less clothing then he was now.

So Bill shoved the decanter of wine onto a mostly empty chair near his bedside, and wordlessly set to stripping the boy of his newly aquired clothing.

First, off slipped the jumper; it had barely been clinging to his frail, deliciously slim frame anyhow. Bill fumbled with the clasp of the necklace, but eventually it followed the way of the jumper, and he tossed it over his shoulder to join some random pile. He'd find it again; the boy had looked far too good wearing it. He stepped on the heels of the boy's trainers and led him back, and the boy let him, obediently stepping out of his shoes, and a quick repeat of the action left his tiny feet bare and sinking into the carpet, then stumbling back on hard packed earth. Bill bent down to cover his tiny, adorable, absurdly expressive face in quick kisses, pushing him back until his tiny back hit against a bookcase and the boy had no place to go but into Bill. He smashed his mouth to the boy's, nibbling at his lips and savouring the leftover taste of the wine as it mixed with stale sweetness and half formed moans.

Behind the bookcase a crimson curtain hung, secretive and inviting. Dipper was literally inches away from what he'd been straining towards for days, and he had no idea.

Bill picked him up, grabbing him up like a bride being carried over the threshold, and all but flung him onto the bed, and barely slipped off his own shoes, banishing his shirt, vest and jacket before he followed, straddling him just as he had the first time they'd met, and as he'd done dozens of times since then.

This, however, was the first time the boy wasn't fighting back with tooth and nail. This was the first time the boy looked up at him with the same lust in his eyes as Bill had in his, and writhed upwards with an eager-to-please smile on his face and a twist of promise to his reddened lips.

He wanted to kiss the boy so severely he couldn't breath. He wanted to bite his lips clean off and swallow them, keep them in his stomach forever. He wanted to maim the child in a million different ways and yet never hurt him, but rather keep his temptingly sweet body pristine and flawless forever, painted purple with bruises and saliva and draped in the finest of cornflower dyed silks, littered with jewels and droplets of his own precious mortal blood, a living work of art that he could touch as he pleased and that he would never, ever, grow bored of.

Instead Bill settled for running his hands reverently over the boy's bare chest, tracing the lines of his rawboned ribs and muttering promises of his own beneath his breath. The boy groaned and writhed beneath him, and Bill felt his stomach flip flop and something in his ears burst, leaving him disoriented and _starving_.

"You're far too pretty, you know." He gasped, leaning down, grinning like the Cheshire who caught the Alice. His eye glowed like a cat's, butter yellow and inhuman in its light, and the boy scrabbled for his shoulders, fingernails digging into his shoulders like iron nails, making wherever they touched burn with pain and a deep seated desire to retaliate.

"And far, _far_ too willing." He added, and dipped down for another kiss.

The boy tasted like five different kinds of sweet and even more types of sour, and when Bill slipped his tongue between his lips, this time he wasn't greeted by stock stillness, or teeth and then the taste of his own blood. This time he got to explore, touch every forgotten corner of the boy's mouth once, twice, and then thrice. The nails digging into his back scratched him painfully and the boy's lips moved beneath his, like he was struggling to breath Bill in, or trying to devour Bill just as much as Bill was trying to devour him.

If the kisses he'd taken from the child before had been paradise, than this one was the promised land, and he wanted to never leave. He didn't need to eat or sleep or even breath, so long as he could never let this go.

He actually missed the boy's mouth when he finally broke away. Bill hadn't even known that was possible, but evidently it was. He dropped down to nuzzle the side of his head next, lapping his tongue along the boy's soft jaw and up to his ear.

His bite had healed at some point, leaving behind mostly healed flesh scabbed over with a crust of dried blood and a rather obvious absence of flesh where Bill had bitten, a sizable chunk of the shell of his ear missing. He relished the way the boy tensed almost imperceptibly beneath him, his soft, warm brown eyes fluttering closed, as if in anticipation of coming pain.

Instead, Bill pushed himself up to lean over the boy, fingers digging into feather pillows on either side of the mortal, and smiled down at him, waiting until his sweet brown eyes, clouded with lust and half muted fear and Faerie magic, opened again.

"Do you like me touching you now, kitten?" He crooned, and the boy blinked up at him, confused. He didn't answer, and Bill's smile grew. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into, you foolish, out of your mind little thing?" Still no answer. Bill sat fully up and started fiddling with the boy's chest again, pressing lightly against his stomach and running fingers over his nipples. Now responses were suddenly pouring from the boy's mouth, and the hands on his shoulder curled into tight fists and dropped away, grabbing at his sheets instead, bitten nails grabbing fistfuls of the cool white material like all life on earth depended on it.

Bill took the reaction as a resounding yes to both of his questions.

His hand dropped from the boy's stomach to the waist of his shorts.

The child didn't bat an eye.

He tugged them off, which was more tricky then he'd ever have thought possible, and tossed them in the general direction where all the other clothes had been abandoned. The alluring little creature beneath him was almost fully bare, and there was no hint of challenge, only willingness to continue and the taste of pomegranate and rose wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! People! This is, obviously, unfinished. And it took a long time to write even this. So here's a quick run-down of what's been happening since my last update: I got sick after the trip, wrote the chapter then realized I hated it and restarted, allergies hit and I muddled through, one of my brothers got married, and my child died.
> 
> Yep.
> 
> So here's the thing, darlings. I can't write right now. I honestly may take months, even years to get myself back to an even remotely stable and creative mindset, and that's assuming it ever happens. Of course, maybe it will happen within the week! Who knows? But I severely doubt it. It will come when it will, if it will, and until then, I'm sorry, to both you and her. But until then, this is all I finished before she left, and I hope it will satisfy you.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you have a better week than I did, and bye.
> 
> Edit: In hindsight I should have been clearer, but I guess I didn't think of it at the time. When I say child, I don't mean a human one I gave birth to, but rather a dachshund named Sadie that I've known and taken care of for my whole life, or at least the chunk of it that I can remember reliably. I refer to her as a child because that's what she was to me, as well as a best friend, and, on some occasions, quite the mother figure. I could count on her for everything from protection to witty conversations that took place in my head. I've never been able to hold a friend for long, for reasons I'm not going to divulge on the internet, but Sadie had no real choice in the matter. She got saddled with me and she handled it beautifully. She actually survived me, at least until recently, and I think it's obvious that that's a miracle. So thank you all for being so nice and understanding about this, but please don't have any misunderstandings regarding her. She was more then human in all of the best ways, and a bane to all squeaker toys, and she might as well be acknowledged as such. Peace out.


	16. Would You Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, loyal readers and you unfortunate fools who just stumbled upon this mindfuckery by mistake! I'm definitely going to hell. Also, I, um, I'm writing again? I guess? I'm not sure if it's going to stick, really. I mean, I'm trying, but I'm still not really in the mood, and I think you can tell. Apparently, I lost most of my muse when I lost Sadie. So just so ya'll know, consider my old update schedule, already vague as it was, to be totally demolished. I'm officially going to update by mood now. And considering that collage has started up again, my mood will be tired more often than creative. So don't hold your breath. 
> 
> Also, in advance: Dipper, I am SO sorry for what I've done to you.

She trotted through the crowd, deftly dodging obstacles with the sort of experience that can only come of centuries spent attending revels held beneath hills. She dodged a pair of women with flowers and bird skulls in their hair doing the waltz, a swaying man with silver eyes and a leather apron coated in some sort of mystery dust, a flock of bouncing, abnormally cute young children with animal ears and high pitched, squealing voices. She had to resist the urge to stop and fawn over them. Ahah. Fawn. She was hilarious. But back to the matter at hand...

Her silver and gold striped hooves studded against the hard packed earth as she made one last dash for freedom from the crowd, and emerged into the very outer limits of the revel, where only the wallflowers and the rejects and the particularly unsavoury dwelled. She passed a shy looking Nixie, a wobbly girl with spider webs where her eyes should have been and mushrooms growing from her flimsy looking white skin, a spriggan with grin that looked a  _bit_  too mad.

And then she was traipsing through a glamour that covered up a gaping hole in the wall, the feeling leaving her slightly chilled, and into a half-cave room that was far from half-empty.

Before her stretched a gathering of creatures, illuminated by her candlelit antlers and a half dozen softly glowing torches affixed to the wall. There were childlike pixies, large grey wolves, rose coated rabbits and ivy draped fox, a young Cerberus, pooka more animal than Faerie, spider women with even more eyes than legs, wildcats and house cats of every breed and colour, dark eyed and dark haired kelpies, blue jays and wood peckers, soft furred polecats, deer and yale and cervitaurs like herself, horned boys and winged girls and creatures neither boy nor girl so much as earth and tree root and plant matter and rot. They huddled, crammed together into the small space, and somehow seemed completely at home with it. The air was filled with the stench of rotting leaves and dog, tinged with cherry blossoms and human shampoo. Her furry ears went into overhaul trying to correctly detect and label all of the noises around, from the flowery Chti bickering goodnaturedly over a flattered looking kelpie, to cats mewling, to a spider woman telling a group of young cait sidhe the story of the bed dweller in the upside down house, her voice formed from the inconsistent clicking of her sharp chelicerae.

In the centre of this court within a court, holding an opossum and wearing a slightly cheerful and decievingly unassuming look upon her strangely human face, sat a girl not over twenty, with golden hair held back on one side by a trio of cornrows, and a pair of dragon scale crafted glasses perched delicately on her nose, hiding her multihued green-blue eyes almost completely from sight.

"Cora."  _She_  greeted brightly, flashing a grin that had the whole room falling respectfully silent when they noticed, save for the squawking of impatient jays and the inconsistent buzz of the spider woman's story. Beneath her long skirt, a wheat gold tail matching the cat-like ears atop the girl's head twitched with anticipation, sending the brown material into disarray. Her sharply angled wings flickered from beneath her hair. "I wasn't expecting to see you today. What can I do for you?"

At the sound of her friendly voice, Cora felt her body relax and the amiable aura of the room wash over her, as she stepped one hoof into the circle of gathered Fae and forest creatures and went to tell  _her_  of what had transpired that night, and of how Bill Cipher had reacted.

xXx

The first thing that hit Dipper when his mind finally floated into coconscious the next morning was the pain.

It was not like the searing, sudden agony of his hand shattering, or like the headache that had been steadily pounding at the back of his head for days now, or even like the empty caving feeling that still tore furiously at his shriveled remains of a stomach. Instead, it was like a combination of all of them. It was a horrible, sudden awareness of his body, a full body ache, highlighted here and there by sharp, vicious sparks of pain, an inability to even move his mouth to make a noise through the anguish, and an immense feeling in his head, like someone had removed his brain while he slept and replaced it with a nest full of knife wielding termites, then decided that they were inadequate for the amount of pain he deserved, and replaced  _those_  with a colony of trigger happy gremlins.

He hurt so much that he actually had to concentrate to properly feel each pain, an action that only made his head hurt worse, and made him wonder what exactly had happened to him to have caused him such pain, because he could barely remember his name through all the agony he felt. Anything more concrete was absent, and thinking about it made angry sparks fly behind his eyelids.

So he stopped trying. He simply counted and categorized the pains like a child counting bits of change, collecting each one carefully because he didn't have the strength to do anything much else, and this only increased his headache by a little bit compared to thinking.

One. His shoulders ached and stung, the skin along them feeling dry and hot and split open, like a particularly bad sunburn that had been raked over by vicious claws before being given the opportunity to properly heal.

Two. His lips felt swollen, and they stung as if he had bitten them a bit too hard, five hundred times over.

Three. His neck felt sore and bruised, and one particular spot throbbed like someone had set a vice into the space where his neck met his shoulder, and then cranked it down until it broke skin.

Four. His right thigh felt like it was on fire, hot and wet with something, maybe his blood, and stiff, like someone had tied a bandage too tight around the wound and prevented it from properly bleeding until it healed.

Five. His broken hand was throbbing, and concentrating on it made his mind go blank from the white hot pain of it, and he knew without even cracking his eyes open to see that it was probably swollen and purple again, if not shattered again completely.

Six. His other hand felt fine in comparison, but he could feel something caked beneath his fingernails, brittle in some places and still wet in others, and his fingers felt coated in whatever it was, like he had stuck his hand in mud and it was now drying, cracking along the delicate skin of his fingertips and leaving an itching, prickling pain in its wake.

Seven. His back and arse felt like someone had split him in half and set him on fire.

Eight. His throat felt like somebody had stuck a spoon down it and slowly scraped away his vocal cords.

Nine. There was quite possibly a stab wound in his stomach.

Ten. He could taste blood burning like fire along the back of his bitten tongue, mixed with the taste of pomegranates, morning breath and something bitter and salty and gross that made him want to gag.

And there were a million more, but the point was, there were too many, and it _hurt_. Everything. All of it. Everything  _really fucking hurt_ , and Dipper wanted nothing more than to be able to move, just so that he could curl up and cry and fall back into blissful slumber once again. Or, better yet, die. Swiftly.

For what seemed like the millionth time recently, Dipper began to contemplate death. Or at least he assumed he'd thought about it a lot. He wasn't sure, but the idea seemed to be a familiar one. Probably.  _Maybe that's how the Faerie had tricked the original owners of those skulls into giving up their lives_ , he thought dully, as the base of his skull waged an extremely bloody war with his temples, and he had no idea where that thought had even come from or even really what it was about, but he didn't want to question it so he just kept on thinking instead, forcibly ignoring the violent stabbing that had just occurred at the back of his skull.  _It just let them fall until they hit the ground and didn't have enough strength to get up, let alone enough desire to live. I wouldn't blame them if that's what happened._

However, before he could dwell much longer of that thought and its multitude of further questions that it raised, or even properly categorize all of the strange new pains that were still popping up all over his body, everything else came to him as well, slowly at first, but then picking up speed, until he felt crushed beneath the weight of it all. Sensations other than pain, like where the few parts of his body not covered in bruises or injuries made contact with the silky soft thing beneath him, almost definitely a bed, and it wasn't agony but rather relief. An acute awareness of blue lights, bright enought that he could see them flickering from behind his closed lids, forming a dance with the stars he saw. A strange feeling hovering in the back of his mind, like he was just coming down from something thrilling and amazing. Something warm in the bed, a few inches away, but close enough that he could still feel the body heat. Another feeling, like something tugging at him, trying to influence him and make him listen to it, make him ignore his exhaustion and all the hurt he felt and get up and do... he wasn't sure what, but he knew enough about magic to recognize a weak enchantment when he felt one. It was easily squashed, and Dipper felt victorious for exactly one second before something new started the resurfacing process: memories.

One. Hands holding his shoulders down with all the gentleness of a rabid hyena, before the delightfully painful grip eased away. Hands didn't drop away, but he could feel magic, hot and sensual, seeping into his bones beneath them, and forcing his eager body to relax and practically melt into the soft white sheets beneath him.

Two. Lips assaulting his own, firm but soft at the same times, sharp teeth teasing at the pink flesh, a satisfied and triumphant smile pressed against his mouth and drowning out his cries.

Three. Those same teeth biting a trail downwards before digging into his neck as he wailed and writhed, his mind white with pleasure as he grabbed for something, anything, to hold into, and his arms fell around thin shoulders and a gracefully long neck, shrouded by rivers of golden silk that upon further inspection was actually hair.

Four. The response to his fumbling embrace, claws digging into his hip and dragging slowly down to his thigh, scraping along his tender flesh and holding him way too tight, but all that he could think about was how nice he felt.

Five. Another hand travelling up to grab his hands and pin them to the shoulders they clung to, holding his hands in a mockery of comfort that tightened with each passing second when he wasn't screaming.

Six. His desperation to hold on back, to dig his fingers into something, to grab for something before he fell and all was lost, drove him to wriggle one hand out of the grasp, and reach for skin to hold onto, grasping and clawing when he found it, scraping away skin and coating his fingers with tingly black blood, frantic to keep the other exactly where he was, above him with fangs in his neck, about to be claimed just like he had always wanted.

Seven. Huffed laughter as teeth were slowly removed from the spot that marked the beginning of his neck, and the claws digging into his thigh changed into careful fingers, guiding his legs apart.

Eight: Scream after scream, shriek after shriek, pain and pleasure being ripped violently away from his throat as the best and worst sensation he had ever felt burnt him alive, consuming him and making him burn out his own vocal chords, because no human sound could properly convey just how intense this was, and how much it hurt.

Nine. Only half processing the feeling of a single claw tracing his stomach as the Faerie leaned back, an expression Dipper can't quite recognise on his beautiful face, before he leaned back down and the claw was forced downward, coaxing a sort of choked wail from his already shattered vocal chords, and it dug into his stomach, blood gushing out around it and the Faerie's huge, inhuman golden eye growing closer to his own.

Ten. Teeth nipping playfully at his tongue, before biting down a bit too hard for it to be playful, and the words "And now we officially match." being purred into his ringing ears like the voice of an angel, before his already gaping mouth was pryed even further open and some hot, metalic and salty liquid was dribbled into his mouth, making him cough and sputter. Then the fuzzy white tinged world started to fade to grey, and then was coated with a black darker than even the Faerie's tongue.

If anyone had been listening at that exact moment, they could have heard the almost audible snap of Dipper's eyes opening wide open before he started to wail, his voice box straining to produce the noises that it could. Out of his damaged mouth poured strangled, choppy, mutilated noises of misery and anguish, fury and loss and fear, that would have made even a Banshee stop and listen.

The breaking of a sentient thing is complex and simple at the same time. It is contrary, and contradictory. It is delicate and chaotic and painful and blissful and explosive and quick and painfully slow, all at once. It's not unlike the crashing of waves on fragile bedrock, or a single grain of sand tipping a scale that balances over the edge of a cliff, or maybe that single piece of litter that pollutes an entire ecosystem, or the push of a little button that detonates the bomb that "Death, Destroyer of Worlds," is so well known for, and almost definitely, it is like the loss of something that means everything to somebody.

Dipper had just lost something that means everything to millions of people across the whole world, whether they realize it or not: his ability to rely on himself. He'd, even temporarily, lost control of his own mind, the thing that every man, woman and child should be able to depend on under any circumstances.

And while that had been taken from him, a hundred other things had been too.

And like anyone else in his position, he got to sit there, screaming like a dying animal that had suffered its throat mauled, his physical pain forgotten in the wake of his emotional and mental anguish, because  _oh God what had happened to him._

And, of course, screaming rather interrupts a Faerie's beauty sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some idiot, (said lovingly, because the idiot is a brother) thought it was a good idea to introduce me to Lumina Xandra's GF animatics. Goodbye, you last traces of sweet innocence. You will not be particularly missed.
> 
> Anyhow, since there will undoubtedly be questions, here are the answers that I can supply in an effort to at least head some of them off. Prepare for a text wall:
> 
> *What's up with the blood: Faerie food is enchanted to make a mortal want nothing more than to keep eating it, to the point where they will either gorge themself to death, or in the absence of it, would rather starve than eat anything else. Their drink, however, is a bit harder to find info on specifically, so I decided to go ahead and take some world building liberties, in addition to once more ripping off Holly Black's wonderful works. Therefore, in this fic, drinking Faerie drink will leave you enchanted, yes, but not neccessarily in the same way food will. Also, its effects can be negated with the consumption of a few certain other substances, in this case, Dipper's own blood.
> 
> *Who is 'she' and is she important: Yes, 'she' will at some point become rather important, if you hadn't already figured that out. And as for 'her' name, that particular story will be revealed later.
> 
> *What is up with this chapter it's so confusing: I vastly underestimated how embarrassing it was to write smut. So I didn't really. Instead, I decided to just stick to what doesn't stall me for ages, (Read: demolishing the last tracing of Dipper's emotional stability and innocence) and decided to just clumsily gloss over the events of last chapter and what happened after the end of it, while hopefully leaving it pretty clear exactly what happened, and also inserting a few smutty but not necessarily too explicit memories for extra flair. Whether or not that worked is up to you. Either way, I'm massively unsure about this chapter, but I figured it had to go up eventually, and I didn't know what else to do with it, so consider it posted but if any of you have any ideas to improve it let me know.
> 
> Anyhow, with all of that said, thanks for reading, and for sticking around considering how long it's been. It's been so amazing to know that all of you read what I write and assumedly like it, and if it wasn't for that I probably wouldn't have bothered even trying to continue with this story. I absolutely  
> love being a part of this. Please leave a comment, and have a great day! Byeeeeeeee!

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to try writing something mildly.... something. I'm thinking the "Failing" oneshot will contain smut. So this was practise. Plus I just wanted a Fae!Bill. 
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote this while in church. So yeah. There's .... that.
> 
> Thanks for reading, byeeeeeeee!


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